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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me.

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in.

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there.

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy.

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise.

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was.

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy.

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now.

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what.

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup.

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another.

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you.

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side.

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent.

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t.

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale.

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you.

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries.

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared.

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper.

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home.

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance.

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell.

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious.

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.”

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat.

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case.

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you.

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times.

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm.

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall.

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat.

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…”

You nodded again.

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly.

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted.

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!”

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement.

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less.

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless.

You finally won.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark!reader #ransom drysdale x dark!reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

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guqin-and-flute · 4 years

Note

3zun are having "quality adult time" when they're interrupted by small child who just had a nightmare.

(Pff love it. There are no actual ‘quality adult time’s in this fic, just frustrated parents being interrupted making out 😂 Bonus little post-canon And A-Fu Makes 4 3zun at the end!)

If there was one thing that could be lamented in all of Nie Mingjue’s parenting experience, it was bedtime. Patience was not a thing that he was known for and there was something about the whole bedtime process that just made him want to pull his hair out. One would think that living at least half of his time with a clan that prided itself in such a strict sleep schedule would rub off on the boy but no. No.

Every night, it was either sudden selective deafness or running around like a hyperactive little squirrel attempting to rile himself up or ‘I’m hungry’ or ‘I’m thirsty’ or ‘I need to pee’ as soon as the time came. ‘I’m lonely,’ he would insist. ‘I want to know where trees come from all of a sudden.’ Once, it was even a straightforward ‘You are all going to have fun out there without me and I don’t think that should be allowed.’ That last one was accompanied by a very Xichen-like reasonable eyebrow raise but a haughty sort of finality in pursed lips. Nie Mingjue was torn between laughing and grinding his teeth. “We will be doing boring adult things, child. You need to sleep.”

“What sort of things?” he demanded back.

“Budgeting,” Nie Mingjue responded, dryly, folding his arms.

Sometimes, it would actually be something of the sort--Clan business and whatnot. And sometimes it was some nice, relaxing, patiently-awaited intimacy. Since they knew their son very well, nothing all that interesting would be attempted in the first 2 hours after putting him to bed--with good reason, for he tended to pop up at the most inopportune times to announce that he wasn’t actually that tired and so this was a perfect time to tell a story, I think. “No, little one,” Lan Xichen would remind him with a patient smile as he walked him back to his room. “This is the perfect time to sleep. Goodnight.”

That child could shoot little daggers with his eyes and it was a struggle not to laugh and rankle his 5 year old pride at the injustice of it all. Nie Mingjue wondered who he had gotten that look from.

He would usually let Lan Xichen handle it, or Jin Guangyao if he happened to be around, because by the gods they seemed to have the most infinite well of patience when it came to small child chicanery. Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, had long had to deal with Huaisang’s mischievous schemes and world-class ability to whine. His patience for such things was a finite resource he had mined dry very early in childhood. Oh, he loved his brother--but he did not love it when he got in trouble as the oldest for Husaisang deciding to sneak out of his room repeatedly (as if Nie Mingjue was supposed to have foreseen and stopped this!) or wail at his door in the middle of the night because he was, of all things, bored. It was night time--you sleep at night.

Or other things.

But that, of course, was in an ideal world, where partners lived together and children stayed in their rooms when they were told to. Generally, they didn’t like to assign a night babysitter to A-Fu when they visited each other--they saw him so little as it was and Nie Mingjue would feel too guilty leaving his responsibilities as a father to a relative stranger. He didn’t generally discuss these things with Jin Guangyao, but he knew him well enough to know that he felt the same way. And to know that such interruptions happened between Lan Xichen and him, as well. There had been many a morning when he had come to one of their room’s to greet the pair of them to find a bleary eyed, borderline crabby Jin Guangyao curled around a sprawled out A-Fu as Lan Xichen meditated nearby with a small smile.

“Late night interloper?” he had asked, once--knowingly--when this had happened during a joint visit to Koi Tower.

Jin Guangyao had scrunched up his face and shoved his head under the plush pillow as Lan Xichen had risen, still smiling, to tuck his nose under Nie Mingjue’s jaw and murmur, “There was a cricket in his room. Apparently, this was unacceptable. As was the walk to your room.”

“Long night?”

“He kicks. So much,” came Jin Guangyao’s pillow-muffled voice.

Nie Mingjue had snorted with only a little smugness.

And yet he could still muster a bit of sympathy, even for him, because he knew how it felt to just want a moment with Xichen and all the nice, long, shapely bits of him.

Like right now. Because night time was supposed to be for ‘quality adult time’ and he would absolutely love to get to actually spend it with his lover during one of the first times he had seen him in 3 months. It had been a long day of playing in the Unclean Realm and snuggling with, and in general enjoying the presence of their beautiful, sweet, rambunctious son.

But now it was night. And they had put said wonderful son to bed at least 2 and a half hours ago and he was setting about leaving some very nice and artistic marks on the junction of Lan Xichen’s shoulder and neck when the door to his quarters squeaked and he could practically feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. All of that lovely anticipation just up and fell into annoyance as gracelessly as a tree crashing over. At least they were both clothed but really. He bit back a growled curse as Lan Xichen slithered back away from him with a slightly aggrieved grimace, tugging his lapels back into place. “A-Fu, it is time--” Nie Mingjue began to grit out, sitting up and preparing to pick his son up and put him in Huaisang’s room and see how he liked whining then---but stopped.

A-Fu’s eyes were huge, his crumpled face wet with tears as he hiccuped silently. Quiet crying was always real. “Oh, A-Fu. Come here,” Nie Mingjue immediately dropped his voice down low and quiet and held out his arms as Xichen sat up behind him, his night robes collar already tucked back into proper order.

The boy darted to the bed and threw himself into his arms, practically knocking the wind out of him. “Nightmare?” Nie Mingjue asked gently into his sleep sweaty scalp and felt him nod frenetically.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lan Xichen murmured, smoothing what he could reach of A-Fu’s hair around Mingjue’s enveloping embrace. A-Fu shook his head just as violently.

Well, there was nothing for it. Nightmares beat fun every time, no question. “Do you want to stay with us for a while?”

He gave the tiniest, wobbliest, “Mm-hmm,” and sniffed loudly. They tucked him in between them, snuggled into Nie Mingjue’s chest with Lan Xichen’s arm over the both of them. After they had all settled, Lan Xichen began to hum, quietly, into the moon soaked darkness. Nie Mingjue might not have an ear for music, but he did recognize the habitual soothing that spread through his muscles, his veins and washed over him like warm, sweet water. The Song of Clarity. Almost instantly, he felt A-Fu go completely limp, dropping back into sleep with impressive speed. (If only it were always so.)

Lan Xichen kept humming, combing his fingers slowly through Nie Mingjue’s loose hair, smiling gently at him through the dimness, his eyes black and bright. Leaning forward, Mingjue pressed a chaste kiss to his chin and closed his eyes to listen, letting the vibrations buzz through his lips and the peace of the moment seep through him. This was also quality time.

-BONUS 3ZUN-

It was still new, the three of them together, learning what had changed and what had not after all these years, but Nie Mingjue was more than willing to put the work in to figure it out. Unfortunately, it was months before any of them had a few weeks free for travel that didn't involve politicking and could instead just be a relaxing exploration, an integration of a relearned relationship dynamic.

And ever the strategist, ever the impeccable planner, Jin Guangyao had scheduled a specific night, set up a sleepover with Jin Ling for A-Fu over with Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, and had prepared everything at Koi Tower. And it had begun oh so well with plenty of enthusiasm and excitement--that is, until the familiar, distant, ever-approaching siren wail that was their child reached them even through the wall not even 5 minutes in. They froze.

“Maybe it’s not him,” A-Yao muttered against Nie Mingjue’s mouth, not moving a muscle.

“Oh, it is,” Xichen sighed with more affection than exasperation as the sound grew even closer and regretfully peeled himself away from A-Yao’s neck, making the man growl in annoyance.

Usually, this was when the irritation might set in for Nie Mingjue as well, but seeing the break from A-Yao’s usual cool collection was actually quite amusing. With a groan, he let his head fall down onto Nie Mingjue’s shoulder with a thump, hands still fastened in Nie Mingjue’s hair as Lan Xichen swiftly slid on one, two, three layers, fastened them deftly and slipped out of the room. “Oh?” Nie Mingjue questioned the growl indulgently and grinned as his head came back up, eyes burning as his mouth locked into a wide, very fake smile.

“I love that boy,” A-Yao said deliberately, through his teeth.

“You do,” Nie Mingjue affirmed, at least trying to hold in his chuckle for courtesy’s sake. “We know.”

“I love that boy,” he repeated, tightening his fingers and shaking Nie Mingjue’s head a little, as if for emphasis, eyes growing wider still.

Mingjue couldn’t help it; he laughed, even as he tried to placate him. “A-Yao, we have time, we can wait.”

“You would think,” A-Yao agreed fiercely, not-smile not wavering. “But considering the effort it took to get us all into bed together, I would really rather not have to.”

Though he leaned down and nuzzled into the soft hollow beneath his ear, he kept grinning against his neck. “Who knows, maybe he can calm him enough to send him back.”

“When has Er-ge ever sent him back?” A-Yao muttered above his head, voice almost petulant.

“You usually don’t either.”

“Extenuating circumstances. There was a plan.”

Nie Mingjue chuckled. The wail petered out abruptly as it reached its loudest point, just down the hall, and was replaced by distant, wordless murmuring. The both of them froze again, listening closely to the voices, unable to glean the content of the conversation--2 adults, one of them their Xichen, the other a woman--perhaps Jiang Yanli-- and a small, tearful A-Fu. They waited, Nie Mingjue thoughtfully skimming his mustache over the thin skin over A-Yao’s artery until the other man gave him an irritable tweak on the ear.

A low, kind question. A sniffly affirmative. A-Yao cursed, quietly and viciously, and practically threw himself off of Nie Mingjue’s lap to collapse on his back onto the bed. Grinning again, Nie Mingjue stood and pulled his under robe back on. “You love that boy,” he reminded over his shoulder as he opened the door to their room.

“You know what else I love?” was hissed back as the door closed behind him, and Mingjue almost hurt himself stifling his snort. Apparently, he was wrong--only Xichen was in possession of infinite patience, after all.

#Writing JGY as a fully feral little man is fun #3zun #ask #3zun raise jingyi au #my fic #my stuff #Anonymous #3zun raise jingyi content

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

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The Sea Isn’t Green, and I Love This Dream | Risotto Nero x Reader

Subtitled “Keep Smoking - I Still Love You”

If you were to look at him with those eyes of yours and smile in earnest, all for him, he would surely fall in love with you all over again. As if he ever stopped loving you in the first place.

- 2020 Holiday Gift - A Continuation of Sober to Death -

Content Warnings: Incidental Stalking, Unhealthy Smoking Habits, Past Relationships, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Angst, Regret, & Referenced Child Abuse

It is the summer of 1998. Risotto has not left his apartment in days, for he has found no reason to; there have been no new contracts, no paperwork in need of filing, and no immediate issues with the newest recruit. But today, he will venture out under the brazen sun and purchase groceries for the upcoming week. If not for the matter of his own sustenance, it will at least keep Prosciutto off his back. As if it is any of the blonde man’s business whether his Capo is eating adequately or not.

As he coasts through the aisles, searching for pre-packaged dried pasta, jarred sauce, and some kind of fresh vegetable – because Prosciutto said so –, he feels the condescending, fearful stares of patrons without needing to acknowledge them. If it is not for his stature, then certainly the peculiar coloring of his eyes. However, the ogling no longer bothers him, simply because he does not let it; after all, he is no longer the boy who once lived in Palermo.

There is a sale on pre-sliced bread. Yet, even after the discount, the name-brand loaf is still more expensive than the off-brand. He settles for the latter. It all tastes the same to him, anyways. And if he can save a thousand lire, then it is all the better. Prosciutto, he supposes, would disagree and insist that the off-brand bread is cheaper for a reason. Risotto is reminded of exactly why he does not live with the man anymore. But he still makes a conscious effort to buy fresh produce.

Basket filled, Risotto heads towards the check-out line. He knows that he has neglected to grab a bag of oranges, as denoted by the crumpled list in his hand, and he does not intend to return for them. The carton of berries and fresh figs he found along the way will be enough. Though, he does loathe forgetfulness.

The line, as he discovers and much to his dismay, is backed up. The brevity of the situation is simply that the grocery store has been understaffed as of late. Something about gang-violence and an attempted robbery – nothing that concerns him or his men. A person in his line of work fears little. Or at least, that is the theory. His thoughts linger to the new recruit, whom Prosciutto has taken under his guidance. He has always had more patience than Risotto regarding such matters.

The young Capo has lost track of exactly how long he has stood in line. Denoted by the telling grumbles of an older man behind him and the pleading of his wife to calm down, Risotto knows that it has been a while, and unreasonably so. Glancing down at his basket, a questionable consideration comes to his impatient mind: it would not be difficult to slip away, shroud himself with his Stand, and leave the grocery store with his would-be stolen goods.

It is certainly nothing to lose sleep over. In the end, however, he decides against it. Perhaps to salvage his honor and dignity, otherwise challenged by the temptation of petty thievery. Or perhaps because the line has finally moved, and it is too late to back out now. There are only two customers ahead of him now. In moments such as this, he likes to pretend that he is normal – that he might be shopping for a family that waits for him in a home somewhere in the suburbs of Napoli.

But these times have passed, and although only a man of twenty-five, he is complacent with the life as a ceaseless bachelor. A hitman does not make for a good husband, nor a father. In retrospect, Risotto hardly believes that he would want to become either. At least, not anymore.

“Merda,” the woman at the front of the line groans. She sets down the wad of cash in her hand. “I’m ₤15,000 short. Can you just put the oil back? And the sardines.”

The grocery clerk is decent at masking his annoyance with a tight smile and curt nod. It is a commendable skill, though there is room for improvement, Risotto thinks. “God, I’m so sorry. I just moved here for a new job, and my money still hasn’t transferred over to my new bank account. I should’ve taken more cash out to begin with.”

The next woman reaches into her purse and produces a neatly folded stack of lira. She taps the shoulder of the first woman, who turns. In this moment, Risotto believes he has been pummeled through the stomach. There is no other explanation to the tightening of his chest, and the heavy beating of his heart.

There you stand, as beautiful as ever, despite your apparent vexation at your own foolishness. The money quickly passes from the kind woman’s palm to that of the cashier. “Grazie, signora,” you tell her.

At first, Risotto feels nothing, as if he cannot process that which he sees before him. And then, regret – pure and unadulterated. He does not hear what the woman says to you, because the thrum of his mind has made him deaf to everything except for the ringing of his ears. You have not noticed him, unlike every other customer in the establishment, and he would like to keep it that way. You accept the bag of groceries from the cashier, but Risotto does not stick around to see it. He has already pushed past the perturbed husband and wife behind him, with every intention of finding a new line to stand in. He does not care how tedious it will be to make it out of the store. He does not care if the tub of gelato in his basket melts, or if the berries turn to mush.

Risotto will do anything to spare the fleeting glance of the only woman whom he ever loved. And if that means waiting another twenty minutes, then by god, he will wait.

He wonders, as he sits in his office with a blazing cigarette dangling from his lips, if you still smoke. In truth, he has always known that you only ever did it to impress him. He wishes you would not have indulged in this solidary habit – in fact, he wishes you had not done a lot of things, like becoming his closest friend and adolescent savior. His first kiss, or his first lament in the pitfall of countless others.

Clouds cling to the ceiling, seeping into the walls and furniture. If his landlord were not so intimidated by Risotto, then surely the parsimonious man might evict him for ruining the apartment with the stench of cigarettes and the occasional blood stain on the carpet. He supposes that he ought to at least open the window. Just beyond his reach atop the desk is his computer. If he wants to, he can find out every miniscule detail of your adult life and more that has collected over the past seven years, since the moment he left you a young, broken woman who did not mourn him. Every bank transaction, gas receipt, and occasional splurge for an object attributed to various degrees of pleasure – where you are working, where you live, and why you have come back to haunt him.

It is none of his concern, and he does not have the right to pry; not after the hurt he has done unto you, back when you were still two lovers who were, well, in love. He hopes you have found some semblance of happiness, and he will not impede on whatever that may be. But, like an incurable ailment, confliction strikes him. Indeed, he told himself that it is not his guile to cause you further grief. And yet, Risotto yearns for you all over again.

All this time spent living in a world wherein he does not exist to you, how often did thoughts of him cross your mind? Did you think of his ghastly red eyes whenever you have welcomed a new paramour into your bed, and compare the sizes of their hands to his? Did you think of him each time you drove that hand-me-down junker of your father’s, avoiding the backseat like the plague until the engine finally died and you had no choice but to purchase a new car? How long did it take you to scrub out the stains from the upholstery and your skin?

As it were, keeping the distance between you two is effortless. But unearthing unhealed wounds, all in some venture of self-retribution to heal them right, is just as inviting. There is simply too much that might go wrong again – the risks, far too great. Dissociation has served him well enough thus far. Surely, he can keep it up, this manneristic habit of his. It is funny, he finds; that as teenagers, you had once promised that you would always be there for him. It was an undeserving luxury, and one that he often took for granted. Now, though he recognizes in his heart that he still needs you, he wants you gone. For his sake or yours, he knows not.

But it would be nice to be held by you, one last time.

Breaking self-promises, like stepping on broken glass just to hear the crack, is an addiction. You are an addiction, and it was only a matter of time before Risotto had found himself in your company more often than he ought to. In any instance, he avoids your radar, and remarkably so. And yet, the tenacity of your existence drives him mad, and he finds himself asking – perchance under the steady trickle of water in the shower or as he lies in bed at night – if you are truly there, or nothing more than an apparition brought forth from his guilty conscious. That, though now he sees you comparing dress fabrics at the boutique across the street, it is conceivably not truly you but rather another woman – a stranger – with the same color hair.

Alas, you exist in both dreams and materiality.

Each moment that he stumbles upon you, from a respectable distance, he notices something irrevocably new: scuffed Mary Janes exchanged for pointed and polished kitten heels, and pleated skirts swapped for hand-tailored dress pants, creased to suggest your sophistication. As for him, he still wears torn jeans when in public. Unless of course, he is working – then it is a pair of striped pants reminiscent of a caricatured prison inmate’s uniform.

He notices, too, the greater attention taken to your hairstyling and makeup. Maturity is becoming of you, but he always thought you were pretty, even before you had learned how to properly apply eyeshadow and lip gloss. Your clumpy mascara never vied to drive him away. In fact, he rather liked it, but only because it was unapologetically you.

He does not mean to follow you to a café after you leave the boutique, arms cradling several shopping bags amongst your purse and a chic leather briefcase. Invisible to the human eye, Risotto falls in step at your side, so close that he can smell your perfume. It is no longer the olfactory copycat of whatever Versace musk you had always begged your mother to buy for you from the drugstore just down the street from your childhood home. Whatever it is now is unfamiliar, albeit comforting.

The café is quiet at this point in the afternoon. The baristas chatter amongst themselves at the counter, and the ambience music humming through the wall speakers is not unpleasant, although not entirely enjoyable, either. Unbeknownst to you, Risotto takes the seat across from you at the corner booth nearest to the window. It must be a coveted spot, he deduces, for the lighting here is impeccable. Mindful of the blackened coffee atop the table, you open your suitcase and produce a neatly pressed stack of photographs, clothing sketches, and glamour shots.

He observes all of it, and only then does he realize that the new career you spoke of to the grocery store clerk is one in the field of fashion design. And what better city in all of Italia to pursue such a thing than Napoli? He wishes he could have been there to witness the bloom of your success, first-hand – and more, he yearns to exist alone at your side for every last day that you both should live.

All of this at nothing more than your expense. Truly, something impermissibly unforgiveable, if he knew that his baggage – if his very being – is enough to hold you back from everything you deserve. It is why he left. At least now, he can see that his grievous mistake was not for naught.

Your coffee has gone cold. Too focused on correcting shading issues in your blueprints and selecting models for an upcoming show, you have neglected it. Did you even need the coffee, or was it just a show of your poise? How would you react, Risotto wonders, if he were to bring you a fresh cup and allow you to see him? Would you thank him – hug him even? Or scream, kick him away, and throw the scalding hot beverage in his face. He should pray for the former, though the latter would be the easiest to cope with. Because, if you were to look at him with those eyes of yours and smile in earnest, all for him, he would surely fall in love with you all over again. As if he ever stopped loving you in the first place.

He imagines what it must be like to be a part of your new life. He wants nothing more than to reach across the table, to place his shaken palm over the manicured hand clasped around the red felt-tip pen, and ask how your day has been. And the day before. And the day before even then. You might drop the pen too, only to lace your fingers with his and grin. “It’s been great, Ris,” you would say. “Really great, but even better now.”

Instead, you scribble notes in the margins with that same hand and tap your foot to the steady beat of music. How wonderful it must be for those who are capable of picking up where they once left off a lifetime ago. If, after all this time, you are so inclined to adore him again, then you must be the most winsome little fool in the world – but his, nonetheless.

Risotto cannot recall when last he received a contract from the Don, assigned explicitly to the silver-haired man. And so, rather than cooping himself away in the confines of his apartment, smoking until his stomach lurches and he might faint, he roams the city, pegging to the chance that he might find you. The fresh air – as fresh as the air in Napoli can possibly be – is good for him, anyways.

This afternoon, he finds you leaving the post office whilst balancing a packed cardboard box with outstretched arms. You are dressed down, just as he supposes that most normal people do on their days off. Curiosity baits him, like a bobble in the ocean; he shrouds himself and follows you up the cobblestone street ramp, past a row of municipal buildings, down the winding path behind one of many shopping plazas, and directly into the living room of your apartment. He never meant to get this far.

The smooth voice of Mina Mazzini echoes from the turntable atop a wrought-iron accent table placed beside an oak bookshelf containing more decorative figurines and houseplants than actual books. Certainly, your taste in music has not changed. Neither has your preference for caramel-scented candles. For a moment – ever so fleeting – he is a teenage boy again, standing just before bedroom window with his knuckles poised to rapt against the glass. He never told you, for he hid it well behind a stony expression, just how nervous he always felt before visiting you.

More than anything else in his adolescent life, he had feared that one day, you would turn him away. He scarcely cared when his mother verbalized her disgust and chastisement of the boy, or if his father struck him with the belt of his work jeans. Because, in the end, the abuse always gave him a reason to see you. You were his optimistic little silver lining,

Although your sense in interior design is far more elegant than your parents ever fancied, Risotto feels like he is finally home again. It must be the music and the candle – or perhaps it is just the grace of your presence in the setting of domesticity. You set the box on the coffee table and disappear into the kitchen, only to reappear with a stainless-steel knife. He understands his unwarranted intrusion, but just as he makes his way towards the door to leave, your cellphone rings.

“Ciao, Mamma!” you say as you switch to speakerphone. There is only static until your mother speaks to you.

She still sounds the same, though the strain of age weighs heavily on her tone. Suddenly, Risotto is throwing rocks at your window in the nighttime, avoiding the parched tithonias of your father’s garden with his battered sneakers. But this time, it is not you who beckons him in – it is your mother and her infectious altruism that he coveted because she cherished him more than his own mother ever did. She leads him to the dining room table, where you and your father wait, and presents to him a plate of pasta con le sarde.

“Ciao, bambina. Did you get that package I sent yet?”

No questions asked, unless only to inquire if he would like more to drink, or perhaps a second serving; your mother always made extra just in case he needed to get away from home for the night, or if his parents forgot to feed him. He misses his family – his real one, which he thwarted away for trifling revenge. The mere thought of it all sends pangs through his chest, and he thinks he has forgotten how to breathe properly. His mind veers into nothingness, but he knows that everything hurts.

“Mhm! It came today, actually. I’m opening it now.”

Petrified, he watches from across the room as you slice through the packing tape and begin sorting through the box’s contents – assorted bobbles and trinkets of your childhood that were unintentionally left behind after you had moved to Napoli. A few CDs, family photographs, and a work of ceramics-class pottery that had not survived its journey from Palermo. You do not seem bothered by it. Instead, you sweep away the fragmented pieces into a neat pile.

At the very bottom of the box is a scrapbook, ragged from the years of diligent pondering. Several of its pages have stuck together from excess globs of crafting glue. Risotto remembers your endearing hobby, and how embarrassed you had always been to show him your collection. And so, he never asked to see them, though not because he lacked the interest. It must be true that a person is shaped by their early experiences – you spent your youth collaging models with pretty clothes from the pages of magazines; now, you are a considerably successful fashion designer, given your age. Meanwhile, Risotto murdered a man at eighteen – and now, seven years later, he is Passione’s lead hitman. At least he is good at his job, too.

“Uh oh, that didn’t sound good. Don’t tell me that vase broke. I knew I should’ve wrapped it.”

Your dear mother: forgetful and heedless on occasion, though honest by it. You peel the scrapbook open and perch it on your lap, mindful of the delicate spine. Loose bits of glitter trickle from the pages and stick to your pants. Next falls a photograph, separated from the family ones, and wedged away for safe keeping. It is a still-shot of you and Risotto.

“Don’t worry about it! I can just glue it back together.”

However, to be honest, the vase is beyond repair; you have lied to your mother to soothe her guilt. Risotto’s attention has been taken by the photograph on the floor. There, you both sit on the floral-patterned couch that used to adorn your parents’ living room. You lean on his shoulder, beaming to the camera, as he stares ahead, stagnant. Truly, he wanted to smile and to throw his arm around you. He refrained; he did not want to look weak in front of your mother, who had taken the photograph that day.

Because his father never let him forget the vulnerability of emotions.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Listen, dolce, I’ve got to go. Tuo padre needs help in the workshop. But I’ll call you later. Ti amo, ti amo!”

In this moment, he lets his guard down, albeit inadvertently so. Metallica dissipates, and for the first time in what feels like forever – or at least, far too many years worth counting – Risotto Nero surmises that he might cry. As opposed to when you were both still young, it will be easier to run away now: no confrontation, and none of that selfish heartbreak. The gap between him and the door may be closed in two strides. In two strides, he will leave you again, for evermore. And even when he is gone, he will keep telling himself that this is for the best.

“Ti amo, Mamma.”

You reach down for the photograph. You had not meant to let it fall, though you suppose there is little use of it now, if not to keep it as a memento of your own perpetual loss. You dust it off and shake away the green and gold specks of glitter that adhere to the lamination. When the floorboards creak, you look up and meet the pleading gaze of the man whom you think you hate, and whom you think you love. You are good at pretending to do either. And thus, as you both wait in brooding quietude, you know not whether to call the police or to hurry into his arms. You are still, frozen in time – frozen in life.

As for Risotto, he longs for cicadas and katydids to break the terse silence that looms between you two.

Or maybe, just a cigarette.

| 3724 Words |

#risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #risotto nero #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

77 notes · View notes

angelictaehyun · 4 years

Text

PAIRING: guardian angel!taehyun x fem!reader

GENRE: guardian angel au, soulmate au, fluff, angst

WC. 8,400+

WARNINGS: major character(s) illness, minor alcohol usage, mild language

SYNOPSIS: Kang Taehyun, a sassy, young guardian angel, didn’t think anyone could be more of an absolute mess… boy, was he mistaken.

PART ONE || PART TWO || INTERLUDE || PART THREE

taehyun was right, something you didn’t care much to admit.

you absolutely adored kai.

if you searched “lovable younger brother” in a dictionary, no doubt kai’s picture would appear beside the definition. he was childish, a bit odd, sweet as honey, and outstandingly attentive. the dynamic was quite different with him. he was just as protective and loving as taehyun, but there was a complete lack of emotional attachment.

you found it refreshing.

with taehyun, it was almost like you were drawn to each other both physically and mentally as if a string were pulling you together. the longer you remained apart, the more you hurt, but you hid it as best as possible— kai was bright and bubbly, you didn’t like the idea of him seeing anything less than that.

you fiddled with the fabric of your blanket, mind full of incoherent thoughts, while kai engrossed himself with the movie on the television screen. lately, you often found yourself like this— detached and numb. however, if there was one person to reel you back from the empty feeling, it was kai. you watched him with a fond smile. you were thankful for the young boy, just being in his high-spirited presence, seeing his smile, hearing his obnoxiously loud laugh... it made things hurt just a little less.

“hey, kai?”

he turned his head slightly but kept his eyes glued to the screen, “yeah, what’s up?”

“i think i’m going to turn in, i’m getting sleepy,” you mumbled quietly.

your cracked, dull voice didn’t slip past him. he was concerned of course, but you were hesitant to let him in, to let down your barriers. he sighed to himself before giving you his full attention along with a soft smile, “okay. goodnight y/n, sweet dreams.”

“sweet dreams,” you repeated.

“actually wait, y/n. uh, i just wanted to tell you that i know i’m not him... but i’m always here to talk if you want,” he stated shyly. you felt guilty. you wanted to let him in, really, but everything hurt all the time and you just didn’t have the energy. he didn’t know how much you wanted to talk to him, to cry on his shoulder, to eat copious amounts of ice cream with him, but you were hesitant. hesitant and very much in pain, both mentally and physically.

you simply nodded your head in acknowledgment and gave a soft smile before making your way to your bedroom. you climbed into your bed and wrapped a plush quilt around your feverishly warm body which contrasted the cold, empty bed. you clutched onto a plushie and tried to drive away the negative thoughts, but to no avail, they plagued your mind once again.

just forget about him, he’s never coming back.

you laid there, fiddling with the sheets beneath you, hesitant to fall asleep. lately, you absolutely despised sleeping. your unconscious mind enjoyed playing cruel tricks on you, constantly making you dream of taehyun. the dreams mocked you, reminded you that he would never come home. you hated the moments right after waking up. for a few minutes, you were able to lay in bed, believing everything was alright, that there was no heartbreak or loss. you missed being held by him, having his warmth beside you as he played with your hair and hummed a sweet melody. it never failed to lull you to sleep— his touch was always soothing.

you both came such a long way.

going against every bone in your body, you squeezed your eyes shut and let yourself indulge in the memory of the first time he ever held you close.

taehyun sat on your bedroom floor, irritated and resentful, as you turned on high school musical for the fourth time in the span of thirty-six hours. he narrowed his eyes and flashed you an exhausted, disgusted gaze but you failed to notice, your head easily hidden in the mountain of plushies, tear-stained tissues, and blankets on your bed. you had an annoying habit of mumbling along to the movie and singing— more like yelling— along to the musical numbers. you had the vocal abilities of a brick and he promised himself that if he had to listen to your off-key, horrid singing one more time, he would tear his beloved wings out. he settled himself on the edge of your bed, picking away at the stuffed animals and blankets surrounding you.

“y/n... talk to me. please,” he begged. he was hoping to distract you from the movie and forcing you to speak was the only way he truly knew how.

you paused the movie and snapped, “leave me alone.”

“see, here’s the thing. i can’t exactly ‘leave you alone’ since it’s quite literally my job to constantly be by your side,” he reminded you smugly. you peaked your head out from under the blankets and threw him a lethal glare. he threw his hands up and surrendered, “fine. have it your way. can you at least move over so i can watch too?”

you sighed before unwrapping yourself from your makeshift blanket burrito and scooting to the side. you sat shoulder to shoulder as an awkward silence fell over the room. he inhaled sharply and glanced at your expectantly but not before mentally preparing himself for your random musical outbursts.

“well, what are you waiting for? ...press play.”

if there was anything worse than your singing, it was your crying and boy, were you doing a lot of crying... you were always a sucker for romantic movies. you clutched your hands to your chest, happy tears spilling over as the ending credits rolled. though, you were quickly brought out of your post-movie haze as you felt light taps on your head. you slowly turned to the side to see taehyun awkwardly patting you, his amusing but unhelpful way of comforting you.

yeah... this doesn’t seem right, he thought to himself.

he retracted his hand only to hesitantly circle his arm around your shoulder and pull you into him. you immediately tensed yet you didn’t pull away, the reasoning beyond you. you adored how he smelled like sweet cinnamon and gingerbread; you did your best to ignore the way his scent made your heart flutter. he cringed to himself before squeezing you tighter— he wasn’t much for physical affection. god, the things he did for this job.

you opened your eyes and shook your head fondly at the memory, a humorless laugh escaping your lips— it was amusing how awkward and hesitant you both were. you tried conjuring more memories but your tired eyes fluttered shut and your mind went blank. in that moment, a dull ache manifested in your chest but you paid no mind, sleep washing over you quickly.

· ──────────────────── ·

the following morning, you woke not to the soft sunlight streaming through the window, but to the sharp pain in your lungs which encroached on your ability to breathe. you gripped your pillow harshly and let out a muffled sob, attempting to relieve some of the pain. unfortunately, this had become a common development, so you tried your best to ignore the pain and hide it, especially in front of kai. you didn’t want to worry his pretty head, especially when telling him wouldn’t relieve any of the pain, it would just make the both of you miserable. you slowly rolled out of bed, trudging into your bathroom to wash your face. you wanted to maintain some semblance of normalcy, it kept you grounded and your mind off of taehyun. you found the pain usually subsided the longer the day went on, so you did your best to cope.

you tried ignoring kai’s heinously loud snores as you trudged out the front door. his body was curled up on the wooden flooring of your living room, hidden underneath his iridescent wings as if it were a substitute blanket. you glanced at his bedroom, which was less than six feet away, and sighed. his ability to sleep anywhere was amusing, though a bit concerning.

lately, kai had taken a liking, though you would argue obsession, to cold brew. it was partially your fault though, your caffeine dependency had exponentially increased, consequently rubbing off on him. being the good older sister you were, plus the fact that once again, you woke up at an ungodly hour, you decided to run a few errands and pick up coffee for you both before he woke up.

you dragged your exhausted body into the nearby café, the scent of java and freshly baked goods waking you up instantly. beomgyu stood behind the counter, a sunny smile already plastered on his face as if he were waiting for you.

“ah, you’re late! i was starting to worry i wouldn’t get to see my favorite customer today,” he mused, a cheeky grin appearing on his stunning features. that handsome face and lively personality reeled in a lot of tips, you just knew it. though, he reserved his extra friendly smile for you, or at least that’s what he told you. seeing you, an old friend from high school, was always a highlight of his shift. you were one of the few reasons he enjoyed working the morning rush.

before you could comprehend his statement, he continued, “same order, right?”

you gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded, hesitant to speak as you feared your hoarse, sleep-filled voice would betray you. he flashed you a small wink and turned around. he danced behind the counter, humming to himself quietly as he made your iced coffee. he was always so full of energy, even in grade school— age didn’t change that fact. you watched as he gracefully poured sweet cream into your cup, the coffee turning light brown— just the way you liked it.

“y/n.”

you admired the way the milk cascaded down the plastic cup and blended with the coffee. it distracted you from the ache in your chest.

“y/n,” beomgyu repeated, snapping his nimble fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. you were so embarrassed.

“oh god, i’m sorry, i wasn’t paying much attention.”

“hm, i could tell,” he chuckled softly, a silvery sound you always loved hearing. he handed you the coffee and scanned the cafe before discretely sliding a sugary pastry across the counter. you tried protesting but he didn’t budge, shutting you down instantly.

“hush. lately, you’ve been out of it... ever since that boy left. trust me, i get it,” he sympathized, flashing you an understanding smile.

“thank you,” you muttered sheepishly, accepting the warm cookie.

“mhm, don’t mention it, it’s my job as a friend to make sure you’re well-fed and you’re looking a bit under the weather. i’ll see you later this week, yeah?”

you nodded softly, “of course.”

when you stepped outside, you stared at the bright sky and let the sun warm your skin, happily relishing the moment. you didn’t know much about angels, save for the fact that they exist, but you liked to think taehyun sat perched on a cloud and watched over you.

when you arrived home, the scent of burnt food was the first thing you were greeted with. dirty dishes were splayed out across your kitchen island and bits of pancake batter stuck to the walls. a nervous kai stood in front of the stove, attempting to not burn another pancake and easily failing. you set the coffee on the countertop and sighed, “kai, what are you doing?”

“hey! y/n! wow, you’re back so soon! how was the café?” he asked, hoping he could steer clear of the upcoming scolding but much like the pancakes, failing miserably. you didn’t answer his question, rather you studied the messy room, eyes instantly landing on an unused fire extinguisher. your eyebrows lifted curiously.

“... just in case,” he explained. he shrunk in on himself and shifted uncomfortably. he didn’t want to upset you, especially not when you were heartbroken. you nodded your head understandingly, chuckling to yourself as you began preparing a bowl of pancake batter.

he seemed stunned, “you... don’t seem mad at me...”

“ah, you were just trying to make us a nice breakfast! why do you think i’d be mad?”

“oh... i don’t know, i just thought you’d be upset,” he mumbled softly. in response, you smiled mischievously before dipping a finger into the batter and swiping a bit on his nose. he grinned in return, taking his own handful and splattering it on your cheek.

“oh, you’re definitely gonna pay for that,” you challenge.

he stood on his tip-toes and stuck his tongue out childishly, “you’re going to have to reach me first.”

you both giggled and played until there was more pancake on your clothes than on the stove. he might have been a couple centuries old but he had such a young and active spirit. his smile was outstandingly bright and it brought you so much joy. because of him, for the first time in a long while, your smile was genuine and you couldn’t feel any pain.

· ──────────────────── ·

you were quite wrong.

taehyun wasn’t sat atop a cloud. instead, he was curled up on soobin’s old couch with a scorching fever. he shook violently, the pain overwhelming him, but all he could focus on was the thought of you. he thought about your crinkly eyes when you laughed at one of his stupid jokes, the small bites you took from your food and the way you insisted it helped you savor the food when really you were just picky. he thought about the way you always clutched onto his shirt when he kissed you, the way you couldn’t help but sob at a sad commercial, and the way you would try to hide your blush when he flirted with you. though, the thought that occupied his mind the most was your vibrant smile. god, your smile. it was art. it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he’d seen the world; he’d been alive during the renaissance but he thought your smile outdid any piece. he would’ve done anything to see it again. the thought of you broke his heart, shattered him into little pieces, but he couldn’t stop.

he groaned in agony, grasping at the seams of the nearest pillow. soobin watched the younger from the opposite side of the room, a worried expression painted across his face, “jesus tae, what the hell is wrong with you?”

taehyun ignored the question, the dull ache in his head muffled the older’s voice anyways.

“you’ve been like this for months, this is not a normal breakup,” soobin continued. it was true, ever since he left you, his health had been deteriorating to the point where soobin knew this wasn’t just heartbreak, it was something beyond that. taehyun wondered how you were faring, he hoped you were doing better than him. he was clueless, the only thing soobin told him was that you were a little under the weather— understatement of the decade.

“bub, something is seriously wrong. angels shouldn’t get this sick. you need help. i’m sure someone will know what to do,” soobin assured hopefully. the older shook his head helplessly, his mind trying to run through all the potential reasonings for the sickness. he hated seeing taehyun this way.

taehyun might not have known much, but he knew what would at least quell the pain. though selfish, something an angel should never be, he knew he had to see you.

· ──────────────────── ·

your condition went to shit almost overnight.

kai had tried everything: tea, warm baths, herbs, all sorts of therapeutic techniques, and every single medication on the planet. none of it helped in the slightest. the pain which had started in your chest had spread downward, running from your ribs to your lower extremities. your sickness was working it’s way out, slowly overtaking your body, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. even the doctors couldn’t find a solution. while kai spent most of his time frantically scrounging for new healing techniques and medication, he was often found right beside you, attached at the hip— something you hadn’t experienced since taehyun. kai always held your hair back when you puked, wrapped you in blankets when you shivered, and prepared soup for you when your throat was sore— albeit the food was near inedible. he was the perfect guardian angel. he loved you so much, he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost you.

kai was out, once again, fetching a random medication that he didn’t even think would work, but he told himself it was better than nothing. it pained him to leave you alone, but he knew he had to try. you, on the other hand, made a beeline for the wine bottle you kept hidden in the back of your pantry, the second kai shut the front door. you liked to think you were handling your heartbreak well, or at least masked it flawlessly. looking back on your breakup with yeonjun, you scolded yourself for handling it so childishly. with taehyun, though not necessarily a normal breakup per se, it was far more unbearable yet you handled it... maturely. or at least that’s what you told yourself. you plastered on a false facade of normalcy, keeping everything bottled up, ignoring the little voice in your head that told you this was an unhealthy way to cope. but looking at the bright side, at least you were functioning and there wasn’t a disgusting pile of used tissues growing beside your bed.

this particular night was the only time, for just a few freeing minutes, you didn’t hurt. the pain subsided and was pushed to the back of your mind— all thanks to the light buzz of the alcohol. you stood on your small balcony, wine glass in hand, staring out into the cold darkness of the night. your mind was a bit fuzzy and despite the frigidness of the air, you felt warm.

“taehyunie... i miss you so much,” you giggled to yourself. not often you called him by that nickname but you knew he secretly loved it. you leaned carelessly against the edge of your balcony and looked to the heavens, mumbling taehyun’s name until you were shouting. a part of you hoped that repeatedly calling his name into the darkness of the night would bring him back to you— much like the bloody mary tactic.

you closed your eyes and tried again, “taehyun!”

your mind was too fuzzy to acknowledge the glow burning beside you. before you could comprehend the situation, a hand was roughly tugging you away from the balcony. you were instantly pressed against the glass door behind you, the wine bottle getting ripped from your hands easily. your vision was blurry but the second his figure came back into view, your vision became clear as day. taehyun stood in front of you, as beautiful as always, but noticeably paler and thinner— even his wings lost their captivating glow.

“jesus y/n, are you trying to wake the entire apartment complex, what are you doing?”

his presence was immediately sobering.

you were at a complete loss of words, too stunned by his presence to speak. he hovered over you protectively which eased your mind and heart. he stood so close to you, practically sharing the same air. it was unbelievable. you slowly brought your hand up to his face, too scared to move any faster in fear that he might vanish into thin air. maybe this was a lovely fever dream, but the way he let out a shaky breath and wrapped his hand around your small wrist told you otherwise. he was finally with you, his home, after so many weeks apart.

you threw your arms around his neck and gasped, “i can’t believe it worked.”

he immediately wrapped his strong arms around your frame and breathed you in. he missed your warm hugs, the way you always smelled like lavender and fabric softener, and he especially missed the way you fit perfectly in his arms like he was meant to hold you. holding you was like holding a piece of his heart. he rested his chin on the crown of your head, closing his eyes momentarily before opening them once more and shaking his head, “wait, wait, what worked?”

“oh! i called your name until you appeared.”

he tucked a couple of loose strands of hair behind your ear and cooed, “silly girl, that’s not how it works.”

a light blush painted your cheeks, a bit embarrassed for thinking that was the reason he came. he chuckled softly and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before continuing, “i was already on my way here, i just needed to make sure you were okay. but i don’t have long, soobin will notice i’m gone.”

you nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in and stinging. he brushed one hand against your cheeks, tracing over your cheekbone lightly while his other hand gripped your waist, “let me kiss you.”

his bluntness shocked you but you didn’t shy away. his eyes flitted around your face, wanting to capture every detail before he kissed you. when he finally leaned in and pressed his plush lips on yours, it felt like oxygen returning to your lungs after holding your breath for so long. the sounds of the cars driving below, people chatting amongst themselves, airplanes flying above— it was all silenced, the only thing that mattered was him. all he could feel, see, touch, breathe... it was all you. the unspoken finality settled in the space around you, telling you it would be your last kiss. you didn’t notice the tears slowly streaming down your face until you tasted salt on your lips, but that didn’t stop him, if anything it drove him to kiss you deeper.

he wanted to kiss all the tears and pain away.

he pulled away to wipe his thumbs under your eyes, catching the loose tears as they fell uncontrollably. he didn’t fare much better as his vision became blurry but he tried to hold it in as best as possible. you clutched onto his shirt and let reality sink in, both acknowledging that this would be the last time in each other’s touch. your cheeks were puffy and flushed red. he couldn’t help but smile— your raw beauty was enchanting.

“i love you. i’ll always love you,” you whispered, voice hoarse from the crying. he wiped the tears from your cheeks. you leaned into his touch wanting to savor every second.

“you are the love of my life. i might not be by your side anymore, but one day, i will be. i know it. i’ll come back to you and we’ll be together again. i promise you i’ll never lose hope,” he declared, pressing a long kiss to your forehead.

“please don’t go. please. just stay with me,” you begged, desperately grabbing his hands in a final plea.

“babygirl, i have to go, i shouldn’t be here,” he whispered softly. he hated hurting you. he absolutely hated himself for it, for having to leave you. your body racked with sobs as he pressed a final kiss to your lips, “goodbye, my love.”

and in a flash of light, he was gone.

your hands grabbed at nothing but air. you stared ahead at the lively city beneath you, a stark contrast to the dead, lonely emptiness you felt. his sweet cinnamon scent still lingered in the air around you and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relish in the last bit of him you’d ever get. unfortunately, the moment didn’t last long as a searing pain shot through your body causing you to double over in pain, the white behind your eyes quickly turning black.

· ──────────────────── ·

the harsh fluorescent lighting cast down upon you in the most unpleasant manner as you groggily woke from your deep slumber. your eyes trained on the ceiling above you which was littered with old water stains and peeled paint. your mind ran wild with frantic thoughts but was quickly silenced by a pain shooting down your left arm. the cardiac monitor beside you mirrored the panic you felt, the tempo of your heartbeat increasing with each rushed thought and you suddenly became increasingly aware of the needle stuck in your arm and the rough sheets scratching your bare legs.

“hey, y/n, shh everything is alright. you’re in the hospital,” a familiar voice explained.

you craned your neck towards the sound, wincing from the dull ache in your neck. your vision was a bit hazy but you could still see the outline of a thin boy sitting on the hospital bed beside you.

“don’t move too much, you’re pretty bruised up,” he continued.

you quickly distinguished the soothing, deep voice, “... beomgyu?”

“hi princess. shh, don’t strain your voice, you’ve been out for a couple days now. you need some water,” he stated softly and you could hear the concern laced in his voice. your vision sharped, landing on his bright yellow sweater. he stood out like a sore thumb, especially considering the drabness of the hospital.

“beom, what are you doing here?”

“ah, i’m your guardian angel of course! i have to watch over you,” he joked cheekily.

your eyes practically bulged out of your head and you were left at a loss of words, no, this can’t be real.

“... jeez y/n, i’m kidding. obviously, angels don’t exist,” he clarified, scrunching his nose concerningly. you flashed him a small smile and mustered up a nervous laugh in response. if he noticed any hesitancy from you, he didn’t mention it.

“right... anyways, i’m here because you haven’t shown up at the café in a few days and also i’m your emergency contact. remember?”

your mind flashed back to a very blurry night, where both of you made silly promises and spilled drunken confessions. you were fighting with yeonjun, yet again, and you ran to beomgyu’s apartment crying. he comforted you with alcohol, ice cream, and poorly plotted movies. you both felt alone, having only each other to rely on, so you both made a pact to always be there for each other. step one was making each other your emergency contacts, though, you didn’t quite get to step two, considering you both passed out on his living room floor.

“... huh, that was so long ago,” you mumbled.

“yeah, you’re telling me, thank god yeonjun’s ass is out of your life, i still can’t believe he cheated on you,” he grumbled angrily. you simply hummed in agreeance.

silence filled the room as both of you reminisced on old times. a part of you wished you could go back, and though you fought with yeonjun quite a bit, it was far less painful than what you experienced now. you tried to ignore the sadness, letting your eyes study the environment. the room was cramped but homey, the warm sunshine that streamed through the windows reflected off the white walls comfortingly. the hospital floor you were on was quite high up, the sky seemed closer to you than usual. you let a soft sigh escape your lips as you watched a puffy cloud float by. your thoughts ran loose again but the one thought that stood out the most was about him— the boy you had lost. muffled sounds traveled through your ears but you didn’t process them until beomgyu called your name.

“... and y/n, you’re pretty lucky, i think that boy of yours came back! you’re totally right, he’s really cute. he’s been attached to your side but i think he’s out talking to the doctor right now,” beomgyu rambled on.

his statement captured your full attention. your heart fluttered at the thought of taehyun being back by your side. you eagerly shifted your gaze towards the door, awaiting his return, completely ignoring the throbbing ache at the nape of your neck. your vision was still blurred but you were able to distinguish the tall, lanky frame of a boy trudging through the door.

“oh! perfect timing, here he is!”

“y/n!” the boy excitedly shouted. kai’s voice was unmistakable and you despised the way your heart dropped, just slightly. he’d been your rock for the past couple months. you were unfair, even now, when all kai did was diligently watch over you and love you. he hovered over your injured body, grabbing your hand to hold against his chest. you could see the obvious glint of worry in his eyes, he truly did care for you.

“you’re okay...” kai whispered softly. he sat on the edge of your bed and circled his thumbs over your hands soothingly. he turned to face beomgyu, “hey, thanks for watching over her while i was out, i appreciate it.”

beomgyu wasn’t blind. he knew this wasn’t the boy who broke your heart, the boy that would never come back. he watched your body deflate when kai stepped into the room, hope leaving your body. he flashed kai a cheery yet guilty smile, “yeah of course! y/n and i go way back, i’ll always look out for her.”

kai directed his attention back to you, noting the slight confusion and panic you held despite being around people you loved and cared for. he nodded his head understandingly, “two nights ago, i came home to find you unconscious on your balcony. your body was so cold but for some reason, your forehead was really hot. i brought your here for testing but the doctor can’t find anything wrong with you. they said your brain activity and vitals are normal, not to mention the fact that you have shown no physical symptoms. i tried to convince them to keep you here so they can monitor you but they’re sending you home.”

your body relaxed as you processed the information. your illness, whatever it was, didn’t concern you as much as it should have. it’s not that you didn’t care but the gravity of your situation hadn’t fully settled in. your physical appearance, though sickly and pale, fared much better in comparison to your internal health. your lungs were caving in on itself and your heart was becoming significantly weaker. you never got better, only worse, and kai blamed himself. he knew something was off yet he kept his distance, not wanting to upset you. he didn’t know that his efforts were a waste and nothing he did would help.

kai shuffled around the small room and let you sleep once more but you couldn’t. instead, you kept your eyes shut and listened to the easy, casual banter between the two boys, both forming an instant connection. it warmed your dying heart. you so badly wished you could be that person for kai— a reliable friend, a confidant. even though he was the guardian angel, you did your best to look out for him as he did you, you just preferred doing it from a safe distance. he treated you like family, like an older sister, but your relationship arguably should’ve been a lot closer for the time you spent together. you pushed him away and built unnecessary walls, and what was the point? your heart was heavy but it wasn’t from your illness nor was it from the heartbreak you felt— it was from the guilt of shutting out the one person that loved you unconditionally.

after a few hours of faux sleep and trying to contain your smile from the sound of the boy’s muffled laughter, you were discharged and brought home. kai insisted on carrying you from the car, up the stairs, and into your warm bed, refusing to leave your side for even a split second. if you moved, he would follow you around the apartment like a lost puppy. it was heartwarming, the amount of compassion a single soul could carry. yes, kai was an angel, but his ability to love and empathize was beyond any supernatural explanation— it was just the way he was built.

he sat beside you and wrapped you tightly in a blanket, “are you feeling any better? do you want anything? i can go make us some snacks if you want.”

you softly smiled and shook your head, “no, it’s alright. i think i just want to rest. maybe i’ll get some homework out of the way or i’ll just go back to sleep.”

the thought was quickly retracted when something lodged in your throat, coughing only worsening the feeling. kai rushed to grab a towel and watched helplessly as you hacked into the soft fabric, rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort you. when you pulled away, both pairs of eyes directed to the blood splattered across the towel, though before either one of you could react, a white-hot pain overwhelmed your body. your heaved breathes struggled to escape your lips but your agonized scream didn’t. you clutched onto his t-shirt before collapsing into his lap, knocking out cold.

· ──────────────────── ·

after six panic-filled calls with kai, soobin frantically paced around his house— a nice perk of being an elder angel with a lack of guardianship duties. honestly, his job description was pretty vague. he spent most of his time wandering the earth and enjoying the beauty it had to offer. he didn’t have to watch over a human, rather, he watched over younger angels, making sure they performed their jobs correctly, and on the rare occasion, having to strip wings if an angel went buck wild and succumbed to sin.

taehyun’s symptoms were less severe due to his supernatural status— the effects of illness would manifest slower. sure, there were a few times he did nothing but writhe in agony... but it wasn’t as often as you. he was more or less deteriorating from the outside, the illness working its way in. he was concerningly pale and what once was smooth, hydrated skin was now dry. the rosy, soft lips he used to kiss you with were now severely chapped but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. it was rare that taehyun slept, even with you. he preferred to watch over you, stroking your hair and pressing kisses along your shoulders while you dreamt, but lately, he’d been so drained of energy and all he could do was sleep.

soobin watched the younger curl up and shiver despite being under three wool blankets. something about this specific situation seemed oddly familiar to soobin— the way both you and taehyun were deteriorating at an alarming rate. the sickness worked oppositely amongst the two of you, his illness painfully manifesting exteriorly and working its way in versus your illness which began internally. similarly, your pain stemmed from the torso and worked its way to your extremities while his began in his limbs and worked its way up to his chest. it was the same disease but it worked inversely, and soobin, for the love of god, could not pinpoint why he felt like he’d seen this before.

soobin hesitantly made his way onto his back patio, wanting the younger to sleep in peace. the chill air was refreshing especially with taehyun’s rising body temperature warming the living room, making it insufferable. he plopped onto his old, rickety rocking chair and closed his eyes, drowning out everything but the bird’s chirping. the wind lightly brushed against his skin comfortingly and he welcomed the gentle touch. it was calming, the way the leaves rustled amongst the golden sky— he wished the world was always this peaceful and serene. a small brush against his ankles revived him from his near-sleep state. when he peered down, there was nothing but the wooden boards under his feet but he swore he felt a distinct touch. a lightbulb flickered in his mind.

“oh shit.”

as if the world was falling apart, he scrambled back into his house, realizing the familiarity of the situation.

“taehyun, taehyun, you need to wake up,” he shook aggressively. taehyun didn’t budge, instead, he let out a small, annoyed grunt of acknowledgment. soobin continued, “taehyun, you need to get up. i know why you’re sick.”

the declaration seemed to wake the younger but he didn’t display much enthusiasm due to his unabated exhaustion. he cautiously opened one eye and grumbled as if that sufficed as a good response.

soobin scratched the back of his neck and continued nervously, “um, well, you see... you’re... soulmates.”

taehyun slowly sat up and leaned against his elbows, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. he shook his head, he’s kidding, right?

“no, i’m being completely serious,” soobin deadpanned as if he could read the younger’s thoughts.

“fine, humor me.”

“god, it was such a long time ago, but when i was young, i went to a beach. wait. no, it was the woods. yeah, the woods because there was a willow tree. anyways, it was windy and—”

taehyun quickly cut him off, “bin, you’re rambling and not making any sense.”

soobin inhaled deeply, regaining his thoughts before starting again, “okay, when i was younger, i came across an old, prophetic-like scripture. it told a story of soulmates that were separated from each other and because they weren’t together, their physical and mental state deteriorated. uh, there was also something off about the ending... it was pretty wack. it kind of warned me about another set of soulmates... i don’t really know how to explain it, but i think you and her are the next set.”

taehyun audibly scoffed. a bewildered expression covered his face as he eyed the older as if he weren’t in his right mind.

“hyung... soulmates... hate to break it to you, but they... don’t exist,” taehyun tried explaining slowly, hoping his pace would make soobin understand.

“aiya, stop talking to me like i’m a child. i didn’t believe it either but it makes sense. you both have this weird, mysterious illness that’s only getting worse but the only time you felt a bit better was when you saw her a few weeks ago. and yeah, before you say anything, i know about that. you’re the worst at lying.”

taehyun deflated into the couch but not before a harsh coughing fit. his lungs felt so restricted and the air felt thinner.

“hyung, i think i’m dying,” he stated weakly.

“no shit.”

the entirety of this situation crushed soobin. one of his oldest friends, the young boy that loved him like a brother, was dying. it was so painful to watch but he didn’t feel helpless anymore, he knew exactly what to do.

“get up. let’s go see y/n.”

taehyun perked up, just slightly, his energy too drained he could barely move. the older dragged him off the couch and wrapped a wing around the sick boy, trying to keep his shivering, weak body warm.

· ──────────────────── ·

much like soobin, kai was frantically pacing back and forth when the oldest dragged taehyun’s limp body through your front door. sunshine streamed through your windows, brightening the room yet everything felt dull as if all the life and energy in the room were slowly seeping out of the apartment.

“um, she’s in her room,” kai mumbled worriedly.

just from that small interaction, taehyun could see how scared the youngest was, how much he loved and cared for you. he felt grateful and indebted to kai; he was so glad that you had someone like kai watching over you, especially if he was unable to. with little energy, taehyun trudged to your room, the other two boys following closely behind. he opened the door slowly, heart absolutely shattering when his eyes landed on your pale and gaunt frame. he could’ve sworn he could see droplets of dried blood at the corners of your mouth. though as ill as you seemed, he couldn’t help the swell of love and energy that surged through his chest now that he was breathing the same air as you. he practically ran to your bed and enveloped your smaller frame in his. he wrapped his arms around your waist and breathed in the lovely lavender scent he’d grown so fond of.

the other boys coughed lightly, feeling a bit like they had stumbled in on a personal moment. taehyun paid no mind to them though, especially not when you looked so beautiful sleeping. he lightly nudged your arm to wake you but when you didn’t move, he peered down at you concerningly.

“hyung, she hasn’t woken up in the past five hours and i’ve tried everything. the only thing i know is that she’s breathing,” kai clarified.

he was right. you were still breathing but it was so faint and shallow, he shed a tear. you were so lifeless and his heart skipped a beat when you took a bit longer than usual to inhale.

“she’s dying,” taehyun whispered to no one in particular. he pulled you against his chest tightly in a weak attempt to warm your frigid body. he stroked your hair and weakly hummed a sweet song, something he always did when you slept.

“bin, why isn’t she waking up? i’m right next to her, i’m holding her in my arms like i always do... she should be awake,” he sobbed. he felt like he was on the brink of insanity, having you so close yet so far. once again, soobin stood helplessly and picked at his fingers nervously. he really had no idea what to do. he thought that being with you would fix everything but it didn’t.

kai spoked up first after a few moments of painful silence, “hyung, i think you need to lose your wings.”

soobin and taehyun glanced at each other before throwing kai a confused look, both intelligently questioning, “... huh?”

“think about it, it makes sense. you might physically be next to her but you can’t truly be with her while you have your wings. with them, you’ll always have something standing between the two of you,” kai explained diligently. soobin stood dumbfounded, the cogs in his mind turning exceptionally slow.

“i think... he’s right. aw, when did you get so smart, huh?” soobin cheekily asked, ruffling the youngest boy’s hair. kai brushed his hand away playfully, blushing softly at the newfound attention.

taehyun felt your body temperature drop and he wrapped you firmly in a quilt. “take them. i don’t want them anyways, not if it means a life without her,” he whispered.

“tae, it’s not that easy, your wings can’t just be taken away in a snap, there’s a process for this. it’s all very... bureaucratic. an elder angel has to approve,” soobin explained softly, not wanting to upset the younger.

“well, it’s a good thing you’re practically ancient, heck, you were alive to have a crush on cleopatra,” kai joked, trying his best to lighten up the somber mood.

“wait, kai has a point. you’re like, a thousand years old, and you’ve been an elder angel for a couple of centuries now. this isn’t some random case of an angel gone wild, the both of us will actually die. please soobin,” taehyun begged shamelessly. the desperate plea broke soobin’s heart.

“you’ll be mortal again, an average human... you’ll die one day,” soobin reminded while slowly inching towards the bed. taehyun glanced down at your sleeping figure, tracing his large hand over your arm. he understood the cost but he didn’t care. he’d been ready to give up his wings long before he met you, but now he had a reason. he brushed the wisps of your hair away from your forehead before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss.

he looked at the two boys. taehyun thought they looked scared, maybe hurt, or maybe both. he flashed them an apologetic smile but truth be told, he didn’t feel sorry, especially not when it came to being with you. he took a deep breath and sighed, preparing himself for what was about to come.

“do it.”

to be frank, it hurt a lot more than it should’ve, but that was to be expected from an inexperienced elder angel. taehyun felt every single agonizing second of his wings disintegrating to nothing but dust, the only thing grounding him was the thought of you. he clutched onto your body as if you would ease his pain, but in some ways, you did. he entwined his hands with yours and buried his face in the crook of your neck as the pain grew increasingly worse. though still unconscious, your breaths grew rapid, matching his, like you were experiencing the same aching pain as him. when his wings were fully gone, soobin and kai shared the same pained expression— they had lost their brother, but the idea of taehyun’s happiness did much to quell their hurt. taehyun smiled to himself, feeling free after so long, and entangled his legs with yours. he pressed his lips to the back of your head softly before a familiar darkness washed over him, gently lulling him to sleep.

“he’ll be okay... right,” kai asked, his worried expression growing more concerned with each fleeting second.

“yeah bub, he’ll be fine. both of them will be. they have each other,” soobin gently confirmed. he circled an arm around kai’s shoulder and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“you did good, kai.”

· ──────────────────── ·

you woke up first with a dull ache between your shoulder blades and a warm body pressed against your back. you remained oblivious to his presence, your mind trying to reel in the events that occurred before you fell unconscious. the pain in your chest was practically gone and you felt lighter as if a weight had been lifted off of you.

it wasn’t until he slightly stirred behind you that you realized his presence, the familiar scent of cinnamon and nutmeg suddenly overwhelming your senses. you were scared to turn around, you almost believed it was another realistic fever dream but your instincts told you otherwise. when you looked at him, he was still asleep, his beautiful features softened by the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. you nearly shed a tear as you delicately traced a finger down his sharp jawline, fearing he would dissipate into thin air at even the slightest bit of pressure. he seemed livelier. his skin was clear and glowing, the apples of his cheeks were painted pink, and his overall appearance seemed healthier.

his eyes fluttered open, your gentle touches peacefully waking him up. immediately, a deep sigh of relief escaped from his lips. you weren’t just some beautiful dream; he was finally next to you, his home. you didn’t say a word but judging from your trembling lips, you couldn’t even if you wanted. your mind ran rampant but all you could think about was how you were back in his arms. you didn’t notice the tears falling until you felt the pillow beneath you dampen. he pulled you into his chest and threaded his hands through your hair, pressing gentle kisses along your forehead. your walls broke and you sobbed into his chest, overwhelmed with the grief of losing him but also with the joy of being back in his arms.

“it’s been so hard, tae. it’s been so hard without you.”

he closed his eyes and sighed, “oh baby, i know. but i’m here now and i’m never going to leave you again. i promise.”

you ran your hand along his back, stopping when you hit the area where the base of his wings usually started. even when he hid his wings, there were still two visible slits that sat between his shoulder blades, but you could neither see nor feel them anymore. you tensed and swallowed harshly, “um, where are they... where are your wings?”

you already knew the answer but his answer still shocked you.

“they’re gone... i’m not an angel anymore, but please don’t worry, i promise you i’ve wanted to be human for so long. it’s just, because of you, i finally had a good reason to give them up.” he meant every word he said. for the first time in his life, he felt free and unhindered. as an angel, he was able to see the world, meet new people and he loved it but he’d been alive for so long and as much as he truly loved caring for others, he felt lost, almost hopeless. at least until he met you.

you were confused and left with a lot of questions but you didn’t quite know what to say. he wanted to answer all of your questions but he’d gone so long without your lips on his so he leaned down to press a gentle kiss. you let a soft sigh escape, the feeling of his touch after so long was both relieving and comforting. he soothingly ran his hand along your waist, the other threading through your hair. there were so many things left unspoken but the kiss was able to say it all. when he pulled away, you were left breathless and dazed. he kept his face hovered over yours and his eyes shut, wanting to savor the moment.

“i love you,” you whispered.

he missed hearing you say those sweet words. his hand gripped your waist and he shyly smiled, “i love you too.”

honestly, you’d miss his wings, though the more you thought about it, they symbolized his immortality and his inability to truly be yours.

“so... i guess this makes you a fallen angel,” you hummed.

“i guess so since i’ve fallen for you,” he mused cheekily. you lightly pushed his shoulder, his corniness making you cringe, but you couldn’t help the obvious blush that dusted your cheeks. he chuckled softly, entwining your hands once more and pressing a light kiss to your temple. you smiled at him, realizing you were granted a second chance— a bright, wonderful future where you could grow old with him.

“i’m home,” he whispered against your skin. you let out a content sigh as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes, listening to his steady, human heartbeat.

what a beautiful way to begin the rest of your lives together.

#taehyun x reader #taehyun scenarios #taehyun imagines #txt x reader #txt imagines #txt fanfic #txt scenarios #kang taehyun #taehyun #tomorrow x together

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incensuous · 4 years

Text

fuyumi’s prince

fandom(s); bnha. i still continue to not go here character(s): the todosibs. dabi & fuyumi & natsuo & shouto. fuyumi and dabi are twins. mostly revolving around the todobros’ relationship with fuyumi more than each other rating: gen words: 2872

i ship them but this can be read either way, shippy or gen. i just wanted to write an indulgent fic of fuyumi being doted on because that’s what she DESERVES.

the todoroki brothers argue who fuyumi loves the most.

read on AO3

“Who gets to be the knight today?”

“It should be Yumi’s favorite brother.”

“What?” Natsuo balks, as he stares at his older brother. “You? Says who?”

“Says me. I’m obviously Yumi’s favorite,” Touya shrugs, completely unaffected by Natsuo’s anger. When Natsuo continues to glower at him, Touya gives him a pointed look. “Come on, I’m her twin, Natsu. Twins are super special. I’ve known her the longest too.”

Natsuo gracefully responds with a fat raspberry. “No way, Nii-san. Just because you were born with her doesn’t make you that special. I make her laugh the most. And for being her twin, you barely even look like her. I look more like Yumi-nee.”

“I warm her up when she’s too cold, and she cools me down when I’m too hot,” Touya retorts. “We balance each other out, because we’re special twins.”

Shouto, for once, is able to join them, considering their father is away for the day. He peers into the living room from the doorway, drawn to the noise of them bickering. He is not exactly sure what his brothers are arguing about, but he doesn’t like feeling left out nor the thought of Fuyumi liking his brothers more than him.

He clambers closer and pipes up, “Nee-san always calls me her baby brother. And she kisses me good night and good morning.” He ponders in what other ways Fuyumi has shown her favor towards him, but he can’t come up with them.

Natsuo pouts, crossing his arms. “Yumi-nee calls me her baby brother too!” He’d protest when Fuyumi called him that, but it didn’t mean he didn’t like it.

“What’s going on?”

The brothers swivel their head to the newcomer, the person in question herself. They all ask at once:

“Yumi--”

“Yumi-nee--”

“Nee-san--”

“I’m your favorite, right?”

Fuyumi blinks as the three of them begin to bicker amongst themselves, listing off the miscellaneous reasons why Fuyumi would favor them the most, not even letting her respond.

She gently sighs and links her arms through Touya and Natsuo’s, then takes Shouto’s little hand, making them all sit on the living room floor.

“You’re all my brothers, you’re all my favorite people in the world,” Fuyumi states firmly.

“But you can only marry one of us,” Natsuo declares.

She blinks, taking a moment to process what he’d just said. “Marry?”

“Yeah, you marry the person you love the most, right?” Natsuo demands, obstinately.

Shouto hadn’t known this was part of the debate but he thinks he would, in fact, like that. He stares up at his sister, intently.

Fuyumi gapes, trying to find the words, before sighing and laughing. “Touya, Natsu, Shou--we can’t get married. Brothers and sisters don’t get married.”

Shouto furrows his brows. “Then who are you gonna marry, Nee-san?” He doesn’t want to think about some stranger marrying her--even worse, he doesn’t want anyone like their father marrying her.

She blushes now. “N-no, it’s too early for that, Shou.” She smooths his hair away from his eyes, and cups his rounded cheek. “You don’t have to worry about it, okay?”

Touya butts in, angrily. “I don’t care if we can’t. What if…” He trails off, glowering--not at her, but with indignation at the idea someone was going to stop him from protecting his own twin sister from the evil clutches of marriage. They all know what he means.

What if Fuyumi goes the path of their mother, married off to a monster of a husband?

Fuyumi breaks into a watery smile, feeling warmed and a little bittersweet. She stares at their small, concerned faces, and assures them, “I can take care of myself.”

“We’re your brothers, we have to protect you too, though,” Natsuo frowns, scooting closer.

Fuyumi wraps her arms around all three of them, squishing Shouto in the middle. He whines faintly for a moment but then settles easily, leaning closer to his sister. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Even though Fuyumi insisted she loved them all the same, Touya had suggested a race to decide who would play Fuyumi’s knight.

Shouto doesn’t want to complain, but he thinks it’s quite unfair, considering he’s so much younger than his brothers. His little legs wouldn’t be able to win against theirs. Neither of them seem to care about this injustice, so when Fuyumi counts them off, Touya and Natsuo promptly slip on their asses, while Shouto shuffles his way to victory.

He turns around with a small grin. “You never said we couldn’t use our quirks.”

Touya and Natsuo refuse to admit defeat but laughter gets the best of them and they let Shouto be the prince… again.

---

It’s strange, having his long-lost sibling seemingly come back to life, and now, Dabi himself is sitting on the couch of their new house with them.

A wayward childhood memory comes to Shouto, as the three brothers awkwardly watch some movie of a princess being saved by a prince.

“Hey, remember how we decided I was Nee-san’s favorite?”

The other two immediately turn their heads to look at him with raised, incredulous eyebrows.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“First of all, you cheated, kiddo. Also, I repeat--I’m her twin,” Dabi drawls and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, who Facetimes her every night?” Natsuo counters, from the middle.

Shouto is surprised. He knows Fuyumi and Natsuo are a bit closer than the rest of them, due to the unfortunate Todoroki family dynamics, but he had no idea they talked every night. He finds himself feeling guilty, considering he only briefly texts Fuyumi on occasion, and usually only in reply.

He wants to add to the debate of Fuyumi’s favoritism, but unfortunately he can’t think of a proper reason why Fuyumi would love him the most.

“Eh, Shouto really is Yumi-nee’s baby after all.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow. Is that meant to be insulting?

Dabi glances over. “You’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

His two older brothers stare at him. “You really don’t remember?”

He shakes his head, not sure what he’s supposed to be remembering.

“She spoiled you,” Natsuo explains, on the verge of jealousy. “I mean, she doted on all of us. But she always brought you extra snacks, would save her own to make sure you had some. Probably because Dad didn’t let you have any. She’d risk sneaking into your room, to read to you, hold you until you fell asleep and would sneak back. She never told you no. You were definitely her baby.”

“Well,” Dabi shrugs, “even if you don’t remember it, she was definitely your favorite at least. You liked her best.”

Natsuo nods. “You always wanted her around, followed her everywhere too. Like a little duck,” he snorts.

The door timely opens and Fuyumi comes through, hauling heavy grocery bags, then pauses when she catches sight of three pouting brothers, sitting in line on the couch, watching the television in silence.

Natsuo dramatically hops to his feet, rushing over to her. “Here, let me get the groceries for you, Yumi-nee!” He tilts his head towards his brothers just long enough to give them a shit-eating grin. “You just go sit down, I got dinner from here.”

Fuyumi raises an eyebrow. It’s true Natsuo had started to improve his culinary skills once moving out and beginning college, with her constant coaching over the phone. But regardless, Fuyumi did enjoy cooking and Natsuo wholeheartedly admitted he’d missed her food, whining occasionally for her to make his favorites.

“Okay…?” She blinks at Natsuo, who scoops up all the groceries effortlessly into his broad arms. While Fuyumi is caught off-guard, she sees no reason to stop him. She takes off her shoes and heads to the living room couch, only to find their other brothers staring at Natsuo in shock and… anger?

Fuyumi furrows her brow and looks closer. Yup, Dabi and Shouto are definitely giving Natsuo the stink eye right now.

“Are you guys okay?” she hedges.

Their attention snaps to her. They assure her nothing is awry, before she plops down in between, taking Natsuo’s vacated seat.

“Let me know if you need help, okay, Natsu?” she calls.

“Don’t worry about it, Yumi-nee~” he singsongs, confusing Fuyumi further.

The Todorokis are hardly a normal bunch, but they were acting particularly weird today.

Dabi leans over, throwing his arm around her shoulder. “How was your day, Yumi? The whelps giving you trouble?”

Fuyumi shoots him a strange look, which he pointedly ignores. Dabi asking about her day isn’t completely odd, but the way he asks feels… intentional. Still, since coming back into their lives, some things had come easier than others, and she appreciates him making an effort for her.

“Uh, fine,” she manages, leaning into Dabi’s familiar warm side, resting her head against his shoulder without even thinking of it. It reminds her of when they were kids. “No one misbehaved too badly. Nothing I couldn’t handle at least, after years of dealing with you three,” she snorts.

“Was I that bad?” Shouto pipes up.

Fuyumi laughs softly. “No, Shou, you were fine. You had your moments,” she gives him a pointed stare, “but you were the most quiet, for sure.” She pats his hand fondly. When she moves her hand away, Shouto instead grabs it and holds it gently with his.

Fuyumi raises her eyebrows. Her youngest brother isn’t normally so touchy--most of them aren’t really, not in their household--but she appreciates it, and gives him a small squeeze in return.

Shouto, above their sister’s head, gives Dabi a tiny smirk.

Dabi’s eye twitches, but before he can make any more conversation, Fuyumi announces she’s going to get changed.

As soon as the door of her room closes, Dabi stands and rounds on Natsuo. “Move aside, ass-kisser, I’ll help.”

“Hey,” Natsuo protests. “I’m just doing what Yumi-nee’s favorite brother would do, aniki.”

“Besides, weren’t you banned from cooking after you burned half the kitchen? …Without your quirk?” Shouto enters behind Dabi.

“Hey!” Dabi barks. “That was a long time ago.”

“Did you become a chef with the League of Villains then?” Natsuo sneers.

“Uh… what’s going on?” Fuyumi stands at the threshold in a plain t-shirt and shorts, puzzled over why their small kitchen is being crowded in with all three of her brothers.

“Nothing,” the three chorus, turning around. Fuyumi can practically see the fraudulent halos over their heads.

“Yumi, let me give you a massage, just like old times. Like I did all the time, when we were kids,” Dabi offers, smirking at his brothers.

He’s about to lead her away, when Shouto grabs Fuyumi’s hand. “Let me do it,” he insists. “My quirk is perfect for it, anyways, right?”

Natsuo does snort at that. “When did Shouto start telling jokes?”

Dabi relents, with a small smile. “Alright, Icy-Hot brat. Go ahead.”

Shouto leads his sister back to the couch, where he stands behind her and places his hands, one hot and one cold as always, on her shoulders.

“Thank you, Shou,” she sighs, leaning back. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“It’s the least I can do, Nee-san,” Shouto assures her. “Your shoulders must be pretty sore, from carrying our entire family on your back.”

Dabi lets out a sharp laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Dinner goes well. Natsuo makes a rather good okonomiyaki, and Fuyumi compliments his progress. He beams.

The four of them meander their way back to the living room, and it’s clear Fuyumi couldn’t be any happier, with the four of them spending time together.

Just as Natsuo enthusiastically suggests a video game, Dabi rises to his feet. “I’ll join the next round. I’ll be right back,” he assures them, flippantly, sauntering out the door.

Fuyumi frowns, worried, but Shouto and Natsuo simply shrug. They trust Dabi to handle himself, whatever business he is attending to.

Natsuo had just claimed sweet victory, ready to gloat in his siblings’ faces, when the door clicked back open.

Dabi shuffles into the entryway and when he meets all their expectant gazes, he awkwardly offers, after a beat, “I’m back.” It isn’t a tradition he’s used to doing, not since he’d left.

“Welcome back,” Fuyumi readily replies.

Dabi lifts up the small plastic bag. “Dessert,” he says, by way of explanation.

Fuyumi’s eyes sparkle as he hands her a familiar frozen carton. “Matcha?” she squeals.

The corner of his scarred lips quirk up. “Of course.”

“I’ll get the spoons,” she announces, setting the ice cream on the coffee table and dashing off to the kitchen.

Instead of a glare, Natsuo simply eyes his older brother carefully.

“What?” Dabi grunts, plopping down on the couch.

“Nothing,” Natsuo grins. “Just surprised you remembered her favorite, after all this time.”

Fuyumi returns and doles out the utensils, then the four of them indulge in eating straight from the tub, something they never were able to do as children.

“Ugh, brain freeze,” Natsuo whines, as he flops backwards onto the couch in his anguish.

“Can’t relate,” Shouto shrugs, after taking another spoonful of ice cream.

“Shut it, Shou.”

Fuyumi laughs, leaning back, her shoulder pressed against Natsuo’s.

“Now, today was a great day,” she sighs, contentedly, before frowning slightly, eyeing all three of her brothers. “But, you guys gotta spill. What the heck have you been up to?”

They freeze, making eye contact with each other.

“Someone’s gotta talk,” Fuyumi presses. “Did one of you break something? Is there a dead body?”

“Come on, Yumi-nee,” Natsuo lifts his head. “Can’t we just want to be nice to our best sister?”

She rolls her eyes. “Spill.”

Shouto is the one who comes clean, sheepishly. “We… were trying to see who was your favorite brother, Nee-san.”

Fuyumi blinks. “What?”

Dabi chuckles. “Me and Natsu couldn’t let it go, I guess, since Shouto cheated when we were kids.”

Fuyumi stares at him blankly for a few moments, before the words click and the memory comes back together.

“Oh gosh, that day you guys fought over who would get to be the prince?”

“Your prince,” Natsu corrects her.

She slowly dissolves into laughter, holding her stomach. “Is that all? You guys already know the answer. You’re all my favorite.”

“Just like how Dad doesn’t have a favorite?” Natsuo rolls his eyes. Fuyumi smacks his arm and he winces. “Okay, that was my bad.”

“I’m serious,” Fuyumi tells them earnestly. “You guys know me better than that.”

“Yeah,” Dabi nods, with a slight smile. “We do.”

They spend the rest of the night playing video games and watching a few bad television shows, laughter flowing freely between them. The living room feels warm and soft, and the sofa is maybe a little too small for all four siblings, but it’s everything Fuyumi had dreamt of for years.

Towards midnight, Dabi feels a familiar weight on his shoulder. Unsurprisingly, he finds Fuyumi fast asleep, pressed into his side, and the sight reminds him of the few soft memories he still had.

He shifts, moving to lift her. “Alright, brats, I think it’s Yumi’s bedtime.”

Natsuo and Shouto scoot out of his way as he carries their sister to her bedroom.

With more care than he’d done anything in a long time, he sets Fuyumi on her bed, gingerly removing her glasses and pulling the covers over her. He stares at her sleeping face for a few moments, and just as he’s about to leave, he feels her small hand tug at his shirt.

Her bleary eyes squint up at him in the darkness. “Touya, please don’t leave.”

His heart breaks a little more. “I’m not going anywhere, Yumi. Not tonight.”

She doesn’t let go. “No, I mean…” He thinks she might be blushing. “Will you sleep with me? All of you guys, just like old times?”

For one brief moment, Dabi is about to protest it would be cramped, even in her queen-sized bed--especially with how big Natsuo has grown--but this is his Fuyumi, and after all she’s done, this is quite honestly the least he can do.

He simply nods, and then proceeds to retrieve their brothers, who follow him without question or complaint.

They dogpile into her bed, half on top of one another, and yet Fuyumi lets out the happiest sigh, as she’s squeezed into the middle with Shouto. She nuzzles Shouto close, grabs Natsuo’s hand, and leans back into Dabi.

Yawning, Fuyumi murmurs softly, “Love you guys. Good night.”

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b-rainlet · 4 years

Note

You made me ship Lunya T.T but as a Allison stan this kind made me ship her with Diego... headcanon about the neglected couples? :O

Tbh, there are a lot of ship possibilities that could be seen as neglected couples since there are 7 main people who could be thrust into about 21 ship dynamics - not counting poly ships and not counting ships that aren’t sibling ships - like Klave or Vanya/Helen or even still incest stuff like Gracexthe sibs.

So you see, endless possibilities but there are only about 4 ships who are really popular? Klave, Kliego, Fiveya...maybe Horrance? And even then, most Horrance or Fiveya shippers still see their ship as a rarepair because compared to Klave or Kliego it more or less is.

Which may have to do with the fact that if you’re an anti but wanna ship something you have pretty limited options, so Klave it is.

So you probably want some Allison/Diego hcs but I’m gonna do a little more because Allison is less popular in general so her ships are not that often talked about.

I’ll leave out Alluther because I did some OTP asks about them, but y’all know I ship them because it’s the sweet story of childhood sweethearts meeting again and falling in love all over again and it’s just...*sighs dreamily* lots of possibilities.

Allison/Diego: A fun ship! At first you’d probably say: ‘We have a pretty much functional adult with a child and a guy who eats raw eggs to seem edgy’ so it’s easy to fall into a Hermione/Ron relationship interpretation where you have a dumbass and someone done with their shit - and I can see it being like that occasionally but not always!

When I think about them I mostly think about teasing. They totally do some competitive shit just because they wanna best each other but where that same dynamic could quickly turn into arguments for Luego I can see it staying mostly light-hearted with Allison/Diego.

(Quick question, do they have a ship name? Asking for tagging purposes).

And Allison would take none of Diego’s shit. Oh, Diego has one of his mood swings and tries to be an emo boy and pull that ‘I don’t need anyone shit’? Boy, Allison is a single mother who’s been through a divorce already, she doesn’t have time for your angst.

Lmao, Allison being like: “We’ll sit down and talk about our feelings now” after a fight and Diego complains the whole time but sits down like a good boy.

Also, Allison would do the vigilante thing from time to time because she may pretend to be an adult and above that kinda stuff but it’s fun and they definitely argue over who took out more people.

Give me that power couple pls.

Allison/Klaus: One of my favourite ships! Can be real whole-hearted or angsty depending on the angle you take.

Like, Allison who keeps busting Klaus out of prison with her status and her rumours and who pays for his rehab stay every single time, at first still telling him that she’s gonna fix him with that Hollywood ‘You can do it’ attitude - slowly getting more and more annoyed by her no-good brother, feeling like a babysitter - maybe even refusing to keep indulging his brother, to keep giving him money he’s only gonna use on drugs anyway.

And Klaus who despises Allison’s glamour lifestyle, her polished image and her nuclear family - we could even throw some biphobia in there because Klaus remembers their talks about how pretty girls are but Allison pretends that never happened because it wouldn’t do her career much good. (Just like being seen with her junkie brother, “isn’t that why we can’t meet anywhere that isn’t a back alley? Why you can’t talk to me without sunglasses and a hat? Why you keep your voice down even when I scream at you?”)

Plus, some added angst: Patrick telling Allison to just drop her brother already, he’s just gonna self-destruct and take her with him and that creates tension between the two of them, could even be one of the many reasons for their divorce.

And just like that, Allison loses all of it. And Klaus is there with a cheap bottle of Tequila, already high and grinning at her: “Welcome at the bottom, sister dearest!”

*insert the 30k story about the two of them slowly learning to understand each other and finally being able to heal - with the help from the other but also because they wanna change for themselves. I vote for added bed sharing and sleepovers and them doing each other’s nails but also them fucking once and not talking about it because they were both really hurt and not really thinking when it happened but it staying in the back of their minds until they realize that they could actually work together*

This got angstier than it was supposed to be, sorry! I love them, I swear!

Allison/Five: Probably the least popular one out of all the Allison ships!

I have to admit that I don’t think about Five ships much? Which probably has to do with the whole child body thing but I’m not opposed to ships involving them! (Especially when they’re enby, y’all know my brand).

Allison/Five would be that kinda snob couple who knows they are superior to you and they’re not above showing you. Lots of quibs, lots of sarcasm.

But also probably one of the more mature ones? I can see Allison being unsure at first because Five is- no, looks like a kid and who knows when that will get fixed? And maybe it’s because she’s a Mum but sometimes she just treats them like a child and Five hates it.

(Five probably has to do a lot of courting before Allison considers a relationship. Which is bullshit. They both know there’s tension there, why the fuck is Allison drawing back from that? Just because Five’s trapped in this body? Does Allison think they want that?)

Five aggressively flirting while Allison to herself is like: ‘Hoe, don’t do it.’ but eventually giving in.

And of course, depending on your take of Five’s body, things are gonna be weird. Like, a popular hc is to have Five in a 20ish body but even then, just imagine the headlines.

Allison Hargreeves, world star, dating a guy 10 years younger!!! Is she getting over her divorce with a boy toy?

(Not to mention the pseudo-incest part).

They’d get a lot of shit I’d say.

And Five would be furious about that. How dare they imply that their relationship with Allison is just some fling? They’ll show them. So they make a game out of proving the paparazzi wrong. Makes it their mission to treat Allison as right as possible.

(Also I have feelings about the whole Five - Claire - Allison thing. I mean, just Five mentioning wanting to meet Claire? Knowing her name? I am soft).

And I know I am rambling a little but whether you think Patrick was/is a nice guy or not (I personally think he is), I can see Allison being so obsessed with seeming flawless and having the picture perfect family - as opposed to her own family - that she felt like she could never really be herself? Like she had to hide a lot of her more ‘ugly’ sides to be desirable.

And Five doesn’t care about that shit. Five also doesn’t care about courtesy. Five will jump into her room at the beginning of their relationship, watch her scramble around to try and change into something nicer than her pajamas and apologize for her messy hair and her pimples- “I just woke up, I didn’t have time to put on my make up, can’t you come back later Five?”

And Five’s like: “You look like someone who just woke up. Your hair is sweaty and you have a pretty big pimple on your nose. Also, your morning breath is horrible. Can we cuddle now?”

(Five is the first partner Allison burps in front of. It’s pretty freeing).

Five on the other hand has someone they can be insecure in front of. Where they don’t have to pretend they know all the answers. Be dismissive with. (They’re trying to let all of their siblings in but it’s a process, okay?)

I’m sorry, I’ll stop now but I gave myself feelings.

Allison/Ben: This feels like an easier couple. Like, more normal, lmao. Just a couple of adopted sibs falling in love the old-fashioned way - after one of them gets brought back to live and they survive a near apocalypse their sister caused.

I like to spin some tale of being in love as kids (like with Alluther) but for me the two of them really work better as just being friends as kids and then once Ben comes back, Allison realizes how much she missed him and she’s like “What is this???? Am I....crushing on him??” (imagine the Beauty and the Beast song where they realise they like each other while playing in the snow).

Just...some good and nice slowburn. Maybe some added angst with Ben thinking Allison is confusing her relieve of him being alive with being in love or believes she’s looking for a rebound after her divorce.

Or maybe he believes he’s just touch-starved and that’s why he clings to Allison?

(Imagine the two of them chilling at the mansion together, just picking up where they left off, pretending to still be kids. Allison all excitedly showing Ben what he’s missed during all those years and what he only gets to experience now - let’s be honest this mostly boils down to Allison making him eat a bunch of stuff, not even waiting until he takes a bite himself but just putting it in his mouth because she wants to see whether he likes it).

(I hc that Allison can’t cook for shit but Ben has no real frame of reference unless you count blurry memories of what food used to taste like so it’s heaven to him and Allison is giddy).

They’re just cute, okay?

Allison/Vanya: ANGST. GAY ANGST. I mean, the guilt over what happened, Allison feeling like it’s her fault and treating Vanya all nice but Vanya stilll flinches everytime she sees the angry red scar across Allison’s throat. Plus, if Allison still can’t speak and will never speak again and Vanya tries her hardest to learn ASL with her so she doesn’t have to write down everything all the time.

Young Allison/Vanya with Vanya realising she’s queer and sneaking glances at Allison and immediately feeling guilty because she shouldn’t be looking, it’s wrong and dirty and Allison will hate her and-

Whereas she is completely missing the way Allison is looking back.

Also this ship can easily turn toxic with either of them - or both - getting overbearing after all that happened. And tbh, that’s just as exciting to write/think about.

That’s all I got for now but you’re welcome to talk more Allison/Allison ships with me!

#Allison Hargreeves

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thewolfisawake · 4 years

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Critical Role

Favorite character:

In CR1, Percy and Scanlan. And gonna sound so hipster but I did legitimately like Percy prior to the Briarwood arc. I liked his place as the more subdued person that didn’t need fanfare for his support. And then I was scared and intrigued when he was more...forthcoming in that arc since he was quieter before (I think I read this was also because Taliesin was bit shy starting out but got comfortable). And Scanlan, was the man I shed tears for because I kept crying ‘oh god, someone please notice. Someone HELP HIM.’ They both had some serious gut punches and their stories did shift the dynamics (of the story and the party respectively) permanently. They are also great support and yet also had some amazing solos.

In CR2, Caleb and Fjord. I just like me some sad boys apparently. I think Caleb’s bumbling and trying to do right but struggling with doing what’s good for you so painfully relatable. As of writing this, I haven’t caught up yet but I’ve seen him make such leaps and bounds in terms of letting people in and being a support to others. I also think mechanically he’s a show of how the drawbacks like his fear can make for good moments. As for Fjord, he’s just in general how I think a moral compass or herder character can be done without irritating both the player and viewer. I mean morals of this cast is more wonky but in general Fjord seems to put forward a general ‘we all get through this’ and respect towards the team.

Least Favorite character:

In CR1, Keyleth. And no, it’s got nothing to do with Marisha. She’s cool. I honestly felt bad for her because Keyleth had to pick up the moral slack whenever Pike wasn’t there, which was often. Some of her best moments were when she had to draw the hard line. But it was far outweighed with having this moral high horse for some reason even though they promptly do something just as low down as the ones she looked down on. Also, I feel it’s hard to do a character that is naive but also very likable so again, sorry for Marisha.

In CR2, I like so many but I’ll go with Mollymauk. And it was a bit of a shame because he was like the one person I heard so much about. I did like that he was the one that tended to push into some of the best shenanigans I’ve listened to. However, he was just fine. There wasn’t much to push him into love him so much nor much to say I dislike him. I’m a little disappointed of not being able to know what his deal was I guess was what I would choose if I have to say what made him least favorite.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):

Vax’limore - Their interactions just oozed banter and playfulness. There was no intro to how that this happened, it just jumps into their flirtations. And it was that cute banter and the real ‘I’d do anything for you, my friend’ that ended up hurting seeing Gilmore have his heart strings pulled as they did. Like if you love him, let him go. For real. Don’t dangle it in front of him like that.

Pike/Percy - Weird thought but I thought it was pretty clear that Pike liked Percy. Everyone sees her as a stalwart beacon but she still has wants and falls off from time to time. But she tries. And she saw something within Percy that was dark and I don’t think it was necessarily ‘I want to fix him’ but ‘I want to save him.’ And Percy find a light in Pike like many do but also seeing her as just Pike.

Perc’ahlia - I mean, it’s canon. Thing is that I can’t pinpoint a moment when it began. Just that it happened and that felt okay. I think they’re both maniacs in their own right and it’s kind of cute how they indulge each other’s passion/excitement. Gifts feels like Percy’s love language and he shows it so much in how he tinkers for Vex and her glee in what new way she can fuck shit up is enough for him. And also it’s really delicious the parallel with them and the Briarwoods and Laura has stated that if Percy had died died, that it was possible Vex end up the same kind of menace Delilah was.

Vex/Zahra - In some other life, they would have been the femme fatale couple. All of their interactions were enjoyable and they so clearly enjoy each other. Just looking over and it’s the eyes with them.

Widobrave - Partners in crime. I think that their dynamic isn’t simple and that’s what’s so interesting. They see each other as someone to protect and don’t exactly see how the other views them as the one to be protected. And they have ‘without question’ sort of trust in each other and are genuinely awed and so happy when they witness one do something great. It gets sad with more of their backstory. And it gets me that both immediately felt guilty for keeping it a secret from them. Not the entire party, their partner. They both have seen past appearances and see the strength, the zaniness and the brilliance the other possesses and I can’t wait to get to more of their moments.

Character I find most attractive:

CR1: Gilmore. My god he was gorgeous. Vax why did you just walk away from that? Raishan. Look, she was hot and smart and even if she fell eventually, she made the most of when she was there.

CR2: Cali is so frickin’ adorable. Like she’s so cute and hey, if not for the whole cult chasing her thing, it’d be nice to stick around and sightsee. I am also a ‘Jester is really cute’ person.

Character I would marry:

I don’t really think there’s anyone I’d actually--well, I think maybe Pike because stronk lady that can get into mischief with but at the same time just be able to be content with.

No one in this campaign so far.

Character I would be best friends with:

I would LIKE to be friends with Cassandra because everyone continues to ignore how this woman has been tormented and then thrust into very important position. All while harboring guilt for what she had to do to survive. The girl needs a break and I’m here with a blanket and some tea.

I would like to be friends with Nott actually. She’s really cool and I think it’s fun to let her be her zany self.

a random thought:

So who is really credited as the inventor of firearms, Percy, who did technically make it, or Ripley, who is the one that sold the schematics to make them mass-produced?

Is there just an abundance of mysterious magic ladies in Wildemount or what?

An unpopular opinion:

Scanlan deserved his anger and feelings of being unappreciated. Even if he was brought back, it does not lessen that there was uncertainty nor the lack of respect towards his body. Vox Machina had gotten cocky and it drove one of their members away. Vex and Vax were the only ones that took Scanlan’s frustration to heart and did not mess up with Tary for that reason. Also Tary was a parallel of the worst of the party, which is why most of them couldn’t stand him.

The small races are not fucking children. I don’t get why they get called children or thought of like that. They’re just short, goddammit!

My Canon OTP:

CR1: Perc’ahlia for above reasons.

CR2: None to be seen so far?

My Non-canon OTP:

CR1: Because I’m hella fucked up, I am enamored by the thought that Percy had a crush on Ripley. Because she paid attention to him, one of the younger and less interesting of his family. And to him she was brilliant and she took advantage of that, which is how he survived or why they got in. And Percy never forgot or forgave her.

CR2: “And they were roommates” “oh god they were roommates.” * whispers * I kind of liked Fjord and Molly. They felt like foils that were amicable with each other aaaaannndddd actually had nice interactions?

Most Badass Character:

CR1: NO MERCY PERCY

CR2: Shakaste is pretty awesome and Khary Payton is awesome.

Most Epic Villain:

CR1: Raishan. Like I wish she could’ve been a bigger villain but alas the dice were not on her side. I think her arc was the most interesting as she was the true threat in the party’s eyes despite there being a dragon terraforming their home.

CR2: At this point? There hasn’t been a major villain for the party.

Pairing I am not a fan of:

I don’t really have anything I can’t ship in this one.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):

Can’t really say anyone ‘screwed up’ since this is a lot of improv and all that. So I guess miss chances I think would only really be Molly since y’know, he’s dead.

Favourite Friendship:

CR1: Pike & Grog - They’re Best Buddies, y’all. I can’t get over how much they just pal around like that’s just the usual for them. And technically it is. They can go get wasted together and then kick ass after. It’s just the casualness of their relationships and how much respect and lack of reverence that I like. Pike is just Pike to Grog so he finds no reason to hold back or hold her as a light unlike the rest of the party. But he does want to do good by her because she’s his friend and he doesn’t want to disappoint her. And Pike never insults Grog’s intellect and actively works to help him improve and deflects the party’s remarks of how he is.

CR2: Empire Kids - They’ve come a long way from their seats of mistrust and standoff-ishness. I think there was a post that put it best that they’re ‘learning how to human.’ And because they both are at the same point of it, they are struggling together. As a result they’ve come to lean on each other to keep themselves from going to far. They’re not perfect but they’re trying to keep this found family of theirs together.

Character I most identify with:

CR1: Keyleth. Being the one to try to keep people together or on the straight on narrow isn’t easy. It sucks and I’m not usually the person that should do it but here I am.

CR2: Caleb. I am very off-beat and odd but I do want to have friends and the like....just not stellar at showing that...

Character I wish I could be:

I mean, this is D&D where awesome shit goes on all the time. So anyone I guess?

#answered #wolfatrest #shctteredillusions

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neflor-hnoss · 5 years

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Five years after Allura’s sacrifice, they’re all living the life they choose but keeping in contact with each other and reuniting every year on the anniversary of her death. During those years Shiro and Curtis dated, got married and adopted a little boy, Hunk and Romelle started dating (in my head, but Hunk and Shay is fine too) and their restaurant chain became the most loved and popular in the whole galaxy, Pidge came out as non binary and started dating Ina and they were widely known as the ultimate science power couple and used to disappear for days when they were researching for something, Keith became the face of the BOM and everybody in the whole universe knew about him and his team of half galra women and Lance lived the simple life he wanted and became more and more quiet and contemplative. All the members of the team went to see him when they could and one time Lance’s mother told Keith that Lance was more like his old self when one of the paladins was around, so he made a point of going to see him every time he had a bit of free time. The McClain’s farm almost became his second home and they spent a lot of time together just hanging out in the flower fields.

Buuut, as I was saying, five years after Allura’s death, they all feel this weird sensation, something similar to the mind connection with the lions, and it is warm and fond, yes, but it feels urgent, like a warning. Lance is the only one who recognizes Allura and he starts to frantically call the others. Keith is the only one who doesn’t answer immediately but, when he finally joins the group call, he brings bad news: there’s a new danger for the universe (I don’t even know what). While he explains what’s happening, they all hear a loud growl. The lions are back (I didn’t even take the time to think about how that’s gonna work. Don’t even care. I just want them back as a team of Defenders for a last time).

They all clearly feel this energy urging them to move and it clearly feels like Allura telling them that they need to save the universe.

They leave. All the MFE pilots, the three half galra ladies, Romelle and Matt and gf go with them. Curtis stays back with the baby but understands why Shiro must go. They agree to videocall every time they can. Coran stays back too to look on Altea but he’s involved in every strategic meeting.

They find their old dynamic easily but there’s an Allura-shaped hole and they all miss her more than ever, Lance even more than the others. But they all feel her.

During that time, Lance is very cheerful and smiley. He is suffering a lot but he tries to put his old mask back on, just less flirty and loud. He misses Allura, he’s kinda jealous of all the happy couples he has around him (meanwhile even Veronica and Acxa got together) and he feels bad for that.

Everybody sees right though his act but they don’t know what to do.

Keith, who’s been in love with him for a very long time but just silently stepped aside, stays with him and quietly supports him though the grief.

They spend more and more time together, just them or with the others, and Lance feels more and more loved and his mask starts to crumble. Until one day he just breaks and cries his eyes out in front of the whole team.

They all comfort him.

Even Blue.

Even Red.

Even Allura’s energy.

Then it starts to get better and he starts to slowly heal.

When he realizes he’s in love with Keith and that a very well-hidden part of him always was, he panics. He feels guilty and like he’s betraying Allura’s memory, so he pushes Keith away and starts avoiding him.

Keith believes that Lance noticed his feelings for him and gives him space, understanding why he might want to distance himself.

They still fight together and they still have each other’s back in battle but they don’t hang out anymore.

Lance comes up with the strategy to finally beat the “enemy” (yeah, it was all to give him his moment to shine in battle. Sorry not sorry) and after winning the final battle they all hug and congratulate him, minus Keith. He just pats him on the shoulder and smile, telling him he did great.

Lance finds himself longing for that hug but suppresses the thought.

The mysterious energy just disappears and they take their time to mourn the loss again during their journey back.

After six months, they are finally back to their previous life.

Shiro is back with his husband and son.

Pidge, Ina, Matt, N-7, Veronica, James, Ryan and Nadia come back to the Legendary Defenders project. Hunk and Romelle join them.

Keith, Ezor and Zethrid are back with the BOM. Acxa too, but she spends half of her time on Earth with Veronica.

Lance goes back to the farm and is left confronting his feelings for Keith and his feelings for Allura.

it’s during one of Shiro and his family’s visits that he finally decides to let go and openly talk about his feelings.

Shiro and Lance talk about Adam and Allura, about loss and about the strength needed to move on. They talk about Curtis and Keith. It’s then that Lance feels that energy again. It’s warm, loving, supporting and Lance understands immediately what it means.

He loved Allura, still does and in a way always will.

But he can love someone else. He does love someone else. And it’s different.

He feels hope for the future, his future, for the first time since Allura’s death.

But he needs closure, so the next day he goes to visit Coran, the one who was closer to Allura and her only family left, and ask for forgiveness. Coran tells him that there’s nothing to forgive, that Allura would have never wanted for him to spend his life mourning and that he deserves to be happy too.

So, he goes to see Veronica and Acxa. When the latter departs for the BOM, he goes with her.

Keith is stunned to see Lance, even more when he hugs him.

They talk for a long time, finally confess their feelings for each other and kiss.

After that moment, they spend half of their time with the Bom and half with Lance’s family at the farm.

They marry two years later and they retire to live in Lance’s farm, except for Keith’s occasional mission.

One year after their wedding, they adopt a baby girl (in my head she’s a little, curly-haired, dark-skinned earthling) and name her Allura.

Five years later, Allura wakes them up very early in the morning. She has a very serious look in her dark eyes.

“Papa” she says to Lance “The beautiful white-haired lady wanted me to tell you that she is proud of you. And she wanted me to tell dad she says thank you.”

Lance and Keith are both stunned and Lance’s eyes start to water, but they’re both smiling.

“Allura” Lance says “Do you want to hear the story of the woman you’re named after? She was the bravest, strongest person I’ve ever met…”

Keith watches his husband pull their daughter on his lap and smiles.

They’re happy.

Alternate, very self-indulgent, ending:

Pidge and Ina, after working on this for the seven years after Allura sacrificed herself, find a way to bring her back using the lions’ quintessence, altean magic and the energy she left inside Lance.

They talk with the others and they all decide to try it.

They succeed.

Allura is with them again and she brought Lotor with her, so he too has another chance at life.

They didn’t age a day and still look like twenty years old while Lance and the others are older, but it doesn’t matter. They cry and hug and they’re incredibly happy to be together again.

Lance and Allura look at each other and smile. They’ve both moved on and that’s fine, maybe for the better.

They still love each other.

And they love all of their team.

They’re family.

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prettyinsoulpunk · 5 years

Text

There’s A Light In The Dark

Narry (4K, Explicit)

Then I look in my heart There's a light in the dark Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me That I wanna keep

Or, the one where Harry gets a surprise visitor after his performance in Glasgow.

(Yes, this is a totally self-indulgent kilt fic with a side of feels that I should have finished literally last year. But hey, at least we can celebrate the anniversary right? It’s also up on AO3 now, same username.)

*side note: my apologies if this looks weird on mobile. I post from my laptop and I’ve noticed from my iPhone app it looks like one giant wall of text with no paragraph breaks. I blame tumblr, I promise I didn’t post it that way. But if its too hard to read, check my AO3 post instead. :)

~*~

The roar of the crowd echoes in Harry's ears as he heads back to his dressing room. It's a welcome sound because there are few things he loves more than performing; there's just something about it that nothing else compares to. He loves seeing all of his fans especially, both the new ones and the familiar faces that he's come to recognize over the years.

He loves hearing his own voice harmonizing with an entire arena full of people singing his lyrics back to him, and most of all, he loves being the center of attention. He's a self-proclaimed narcissist so having the undivided attention of thousands of people almost every night is a feeling that Harry sorely misses when he's not on stage.

Tonight he's in Glasgow, and the show was phenomenal.

One of Harry's favorites, if he's honest. He's still buzzing from it as he tries to wind down, but it's hard. He's always bursting with endless energy afterward and the adrenaline rush is the very best drug there is.

He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and immediately sinks down onto one of the plush couches. He should change his clothes but he's not ready to give the kilt up just yet. He had it custom made just for this particular show and he adores it. He knows he won't have many chances to wear it again, so he's going to keep it on for as long as he can. Even if he's the only one around to appreciate it because his bandmates have already taken off. He really should be heading back to the hotel too though, because they've got an early flight to Dublin in the morning.

Dublin.

Where Niall will be because he's recording a special performance with the RTE Orchestra.

Not that Harry is keeping tabs or anything. (He's totally keeping tabs.) He desperately wants to believe this isn't just a random coincidence but he's honestly not sure. What are the odds, though? It's not L.A. or London, so of all the cities in the world, they'll both be in Dublin at the exact same time?

Not that it would be unusual for Niall to be in Dublin at any given moment considering it's practically home to him. He did at least mention the performance to Harry the other day and casually suggested they try and get together if they could. No solid plans were made but Harry still feels almost giddy at the thought of seeing each other.

It's been a while, but that's just because they've been incredibly busy. They both did a small collection of solo shows back in the fall and then they've spent the earlier part of this year prepping for their world tours. So it's not that they've been ignoring each other, they just haven't had any spare time for visiting.

Harry is still kicking himself for not going to the BRITs, but he had been shooting his new Gucci add all week and he honestly had no idea that Niall would be attending. He heard all about it from Liam the next morning and then absolutely did not spend two hours browsing various social media feeds to save all the pictures of Niall from the show.

(It was closer to three hours, and in his defense, Niall looked devastatingly handsome as usual.)

So it's not that Harry and Niall haven't wanted to see each other lately, they just haven't had the opportunity. If this had been a year ago, Harry wouldn't be feeling as excited at the prospect. Thankfully it's a non-issue now. Their breakup hadn't exactly been amicable, but Harry is grateful that they managed to patch things up between them.

Harry had broken Niall's heart, even though it certainly wasn't intentional. Niall knows that too - or so he's told Harry - and they had a really good time together when Niall went to his very first solo show in L.A. They talked, they laughed and they fucked, even though the latter was definitely against their better judgment. They chalked it up to familiarity though, and the fact that they'll always mean something special to one another.

The aftermath wasn't as awkward as it could have been and they even shared a kiss goodbye. But this time, it was with the knowledge that they were going to be okay.

Harry wasn't going to feel guilty that he might not see Niall again for a while, and Niall wouldn't be continuing to sit by a silent phone. They also discussed their expectations of one another and what each of them could bring to the table in terms of repairing the friendship.

So far they've both kept their promises which were mostly to connect with each other more often and to not let the past ruin what is undoubtedly the most important friendship they've ever had. They just haven't actually seen each other physically in a few months, so Harry is a bit nervous if he's honest. He did speak to Niall for nearly an hour last week just before he went on stage in London, which was nice. Niall told him all about the Masters tournament, and Harry filled Niall in on some of his favorite moments from his tour so far.

It's felt too much like old times lately, and Harry is trying hard not to get his hopes up.

Despite that, he can't deny the fact that he still has deep feelings for Niall. How could he not? Niall Horan is the love of his life, but they were just on separate paths two years ago.

Now things are different. Better. Wonderful, Harry might even dare say.

Niall seems to be quite happy these days, although he isn't shy about telling the world how blissfully single he is.

Single and not ready to mingle, apparently.

That puts a definite wrench in Harry's plan to try and win him back, but maybe it's better this way. For now, at least. He's not even sure if they can go back to being a couple again, but he's thrilled to have their dynamic back. Or getting there, anyway. Now he can text Niall random song lyrics at odd hours or send a cute picture of himself holding a chicken for his Gucci ad. It's fun, and Harry feels light and happy that things are so much better between them.

They're not perfect by a long shot, but they're making it work.

Which brings us back to the present, where Harry is lying on his dressing room couch, just mindlessly scrolling through his Instagram feed when a text pops up on his phone screen.

amazing show tonight H . you totally smashed it

Of course it's Niall, and Harry can't stop smiling as he replies.

Thank you! xx Did you find a good livestream?

Harry knows that Niall likes to peek in on the occasional livestream but he doesn't think Niall has seen any recently.

not exactly

Then what, exactly? Harry asks, puzzled.

A quiet knock at the door interrupts Harry's thoughts, so he sets his phone down and gets up to answer it.

Of all the people that Harry might have expected to see on the other side of that door, Niall sure wasn't it. And especially not carrying a gorgeous bouquet of pink roses which are Harry's favorite.

"I caught the live show," Niall explains and holds the flowers out for Harry to take.

Harry accepts them gratefully and moves aside so Niall can come in. "Thank you, they're beautiful," he says, and quickly fills an empty glass with water for the roses. It's not an ideal fit, but it will do for now until Harry can get a vase for them.

"You're beautiful," Niall replies automatically and his face flushes the instant the words leave his mouth.

"And you're charming as always," Harry smiles and steps back into Niall's space.

"We could do this all day," Niall laughs and pulls Harry into his arms. They fit together just as perfectly as they always have, like two lost puzzle pieces finally being connected together again.

"Probably," Harry nods and wraps Niall up in the tightest hug. "I've missed you so much," he whispers against Niall's hair.

"I've missed you too, H." Niall buries his face in the crook of Harry's neck and breathes him in. It should probably be awkward, but nothing has felt this familiar in a long time.

They stay like that for a few moments, just swaying in each other's arms before Harry pulls back. He slips his hand into Nialls, their fingers threading together easily as he leads him over to the couch. Harry sits first and then Niall, whether by instinct or preference, sits close enough that their thighs are pressed together.

"So," Harry starts, "not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

Someone has to acknowledge the elephant in the room, so Harry figures it might as well be him. He can sense that Niall is nervous so he wants to make this as easy on him as possible.

Niall takes a deep breath before answering. "I haven't quite figured that part out yet. I know we'll both be in Dublin tomorrow but we'll be pretty busy and I just... I really needed to see you tonight."

"I'm glad you're here," Harry smiles and reaches out to squeeze Niall's knee.

"Thank God," Niall sighs, visibly relieved. "I realized halfway over here that it might not be the best idea, but it was a little too late to change my mind at that point," Niall adds, sliding closer.

"I'm glad you didn't," Harry says and pulls Niall into another hug. "Are you flying back out tonight or in the morning?"

"In the morning," Niall tells him as he locks his arms around Harry's waist.

"Me too," Harry grins and pulls back to meet Niall's eyes. "What time is your flight?"

"Eight-thirty," Niall winces because he knows that's when Harry's flight is too. It pays to know people in the industry who can get that type of information for him at a moment's notice.

Harry eyes Niall curiously. "Is that a coincidence, or are you stalking me?"

"What can I say, I'm a big fan," Niall shrugs, and Harry giggles uncontrollably.

It's so unexpected but so Niall, and Harry's cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

"Well then," Harry starts, "we'll just have to make sure you get the full VIP experience, won't we?" he winks and plants a kiss on Niall's forehead.

"Is kissing included then, or was that just a bonus?" Niall teases.

"That depends," Harry replies, his expression turning serious.

"On?" Niall's skin starts to prickle with anticipation.

Harry reaches out to tilt Niall's face up. "Whether or not you want it to be."

"What if I said yes?" Niall challenges.

"Then kissing is absolutely included," Harry nods as he climbs onto Niall's lap and straddles his thighs. "Is this okay?"

"Very," Niall assures him as he grips Harry by the lapels of his jacket and drags him forward.

"Niall," Harry gasps as he cups Niall's jaw and crushes their mouths together. There's nothing hesitant about it, it's hot and desperate and he can't stop his hands from touching every part of Niall that he can reach. He slides one hand into Niall's hair and gives it a sharp tug while the other hand snakes under Niall's shirt and grazes his nipples.

"Fuck," Niall hisses because his nipples are sensitive and he's already half hard just from kissing.

"Brilliant idea," Harry whimpers against Niall's mouth before pulling back to help strip his shirt off. "I missed this so much," he admits as he reaches down and starts working Niall's jeans open.

"Which part exactly?" Niall teases. "Me, or sex in general?"

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. "You, in general, but I definitely missed sex. It's been a while," he adds.

Niall just shakes his head. "I'm not even going to ask," he says and opts for sliding his hands under Harry's kilt and up his bare thighs instead. "Don't wanna know, honestly."

"It's best if you don't," Harry agrees, "but it's nothing that ever happened more than once with the same person and definitely not with anyone who means even a fraction of what you mean to me, Ni," Harry tells him as he leans in to kiss Niall again. It's slower, and a lot less urgent this time as Niall opens up for him and their tongues slide together.

"It's in the past, pet," Niall smiles when they break apart. "Let's focus on us for now, yeah?" he suggests as his hands continue traveling up Harry's thighs.

"Yeah," Harry nods and kisses Niall again. It only lasts for a second though, before Niall is panting his name against Harry's mouth and Harry feels the sharp sting of elastic popping against his skin. He had been waiting for Niall to notice, but he didn't want to ruin the surprise.

"Knickers?" Niall asks, eyes blown wide as his hands glide over smooth silk instead of the soft cotton of Harry's briefs.

"I was feeling a bit cheeky," Harry grins and leans in to press a kiss against Niall's neck.

"But you had boxers on during the show," Niall points out, looking confused. "You flashed us at least twice and I don't recall you wearing these," he smirks as he snaps the elastic again.

"Good to know you were paying attention," Harry winks. "I took them off when I got back here. I was wearing both during the show, but I didn't want to end up on the front page of The Sun for accidentally exposing myself to an arena full of fans."

"But you didn't mind telling all of Milan that you'd do me if you were a girl for twenty-four hours?" Niall teases.

"Not in the least," Harry beams. "Besides, I did do you the minute we got back to our hotel room if memory serves. I was quite glad I wasn't a girl, though. Nothing against having lady bits but I've grown pretty attached to my cock," Harry laughs as he reaches down to rub Niall through his jeans.

"The feeling is mutual," Niall agrees, breath hitched as he slides his hand further up Harry's kilt and palms his dick through the knickers. They're a bit damp already and Harry's so hard that he's almost bursting out of them. "Fuck, pet, can I see?" he pants against Harry's mouth as he leans in for another kiss.

"Of course," Harry says as he pulls back and hikes his kilt up. The panties are black silk with fancy lace trim and they're barely large enough to hold Harry in. His cock is straining against the fabric and it's making Niall's mouth water.

"Holy Christ," Niall moans as he lifts Harry off of his lap and carefully sets him down on the couch. The next ten seconds are a blur as Niall slides to his knees and spreads Harry's thighs apart.

"I take it you approve then?" Harry says just as Niall leans in and starts mouthing at him through the delicate fabric. It's already considerably wet with Harry's pre-come but the sensation feels amazing.

"Fuck yes," Niall growls as he eases the panties down and wraps his mouth around the head of Harry's cock. He gives it a gentle suck before pulling off and kissing down the shaft. "Fuck, Haz," he pants before swallowing Harry's cock down in one fluid motion.

"Oh my God," Harry whimpers and reaches down to grip Niall's hair for leverage. "Jesus, your mouth, Ni." He's gotten more blowjobs from Niall than he could possibly count on his fingers and toes combined but they never fail to make him see stars. It's all going to be over too quickly though, and Harry doesn't want that.

"Wait," he hisses and tugs harder on Niall's hair until he gets the message.

"What's wrong, love?" Niall asks, looking up at Harry from between his thighs. He looks so concerned all of a sudden like maybe he's done something wrong. Harry hates making him look like that, but he also has way better ideas about how he might prefer to come.

"Absolutely nothing," Harry promises as he reaches down to rub Niall's cheek. "Just thought maybe I could ride you instead?"

"Christ," Niall whines, looking panicked. "I don't have anything with me. I didn't think I'd be needing lube or condoms so I didn't pack any."

Harry grins down at him and continues to caress Niall's cheek. "Check the inside pocket of my carry on bag."

Niall's panic immediately melts into amusement as he gets up and easily locates what he needs.

"I'm definitely not asking why you're so prepared, or why these look brand new," Niall says, giving Harry a teasing glare.

Harry blushes bright red. "That's because I just bought them. I ... um … " he trails off as Niall joins him on the couch again and takes Harry's hands into his own.

"It's okay, love. Clean slate, yeah? You don't owe me any - "

"I was hoping I would see you tomorrow," Harry admits in a rush. "I wasn't expecting anything, I swear, I just… I don't know," he mumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"You just wanted to be prepared?" Niall offers as he leans in to kiss Harry softly.

"Yeah," Harry breathes against Niall's lips. "Just thought I'd play it safe."

Niall kisses the tip of Harry's nose. "Good thinking, love. My beautiful genius," he grins and then stands up so he can strip the rest of his clothes off. He piles them onto a nearby armchair along with his shoes and then spreads back out on the couch next to Harry.

"Now," he continues as he surveys Harry's intricate outfit, "what parts of this can we remove? Maybe the jacket? Because you're keeping the kilt on while I fuck you."

It's not a question and makes Harry's whole body flush hotly. "Jesus," he whimpers and begins peeling off his jacket. "Shirt too?"

"Everything but the kilt," Niall instructs as he tears open the condom and starts rolling it onto his cock. "Except the knickers," he quickly amends. "I hope you're not terribly attached."

"Not especially," Harry laughs, "got loads of them."

"I hope I'll get to see them all," Niall murmurs as he slides his hand between Harry's legs and skims his fingers over the fabric. There's not much to them, really. They're just flimsy scraps of silk barely held together by fancy lace, but it's the hottest thing Niall has ever seen.

Harry covers Niall's hand with his own and presses down hard. "Anytime you want."

"Fuck," Niall says shakily, "I'm not gonna last long at this rate. Let's get you ready for me, yeah?"

"Um," Harry squirms, suddenly looking nervous. "That won't be necessary."

"Why not?" Niall asks as Harry props one thigh up and guides Niall's hand further back.

Niall doesn't seem to understand at first until his fingers graze against a hard object that seems to be firmly wedged inside of Harry.

"You're wearing a plug?" Niall says incredulously. It's something they had talked about before but never got around to experimenting with. Niall loved the idea of Harry wearing one for him, keeping him loose and open all day until Niall could take him home and fuck him.

"I figured why stop at the knickers, y'know? I was feeling pretty sexy. Thought this might be a fun time to try it."

"So what's the verdict?" Niall asks while pressing lightly on the plug.

Harry reacts immediately as a shudder rolls through him. "Don't think I'd do it on stage again, honestly. All the dancing really made me feel it."

"Fuck, that's so hot; I wish I would have known before. It's so sexy to think about you up there wearing this to keep you nice and ready for me."

"Wasn't for you," Harry frowns a bit at that, "but it is now. And it could be from now own… if you want…" he tells Niall before pressing a soft kiss to Niall's lips.

"I want," Niall nods and cradles Harry's face. "I want that so much, my love."

"Me too, baby," Harry grins brightly. "Now shut up and fuck me."

"Bossy," Niall laughs as he moves Harry's panties aside and locates the plug again. It's got a ring attached at the end which he pulls on slowly until it slips right out. It's bright pink, (because of course it is) with rhinestones - or maybe diamonds, knowing Harry - accenting the ring.

"Fuck," Harry whines at the loss. "I'm ready, baby. Can I, please?" he begs and moves to straddle Niall's lap again.

Niall quickly spreads some lube onto his cock for good measure before reaching under Harry's kilt to shove his knickers to the side.

"Go on then," Niall says as he arches his hips up a bit.

Harry wastes no time aligning himself before sinking down onto Niall's cock and taking him deep. Niall slides right in and Harry moans loudly as he starts to move. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good," he whines and leans in to press a blazing trail of kisses up Niall's neck.

"You too, petal," Niall murmurs as he reaches up and massages Harry's inner thighs. "So good for me," he adds before wrapping his fingers around Harry's cock and working him slowly.

"Niall," Harry gasps just as Niall snaps his hips and thrusts deeper into him. "I'm not going to last long," he whispers against Niall's skin as he alternates between biting and kissing. The marks are already starting to bloom bright red in contrast to Niall's pale skin and Harry loves knowing that they'll take several days to fade.

"That makes two of us," Niall laughs before using his free hand to tilt Harry's face up for a kiss. It's slow and sweet in comparison to the frantic way that Harry is rocking in his lap.

"Harder," Harry begs between kisses as he grips Niall's hair sharply. "Fuck...I'm so close."

"Don't hold back, love. Wanna hear you," Niall moans as he arches his hips again. A few more rough strokes are all it takes for Harry to cry out and come hot and sticky between them.

"Jesus," Harry whimpers softly, completely spent as Niall's arms wrap tightly around him. "Keep going," Harry says while lifting himself up slowly and sinking back down.

Niall cups Harry's face gently and gives him a soft kiss. "You sure, angel?"

"Please," Harry nods and turns the kiss into something deep and filthy. He bites at Niall's bottom lip and frantically resumes fucking himself on Niall's cock until he feels Niall coming deep inside him.

"Fuck," Niall growls against Harry's mouth, chest heaving as he stills his hips and desperately tries to regulate his breathing. "Holy Christ, that was…"

"Incredible," Harry finishes for him before carefully easing himself off of Niall's cock and flopping next to him on the couch. He's not sure he wants to chance looking down at the ruined remains of his kilt though, because there's no way he's sending it out to be cleaned.

"What's so funny?" Niall asks to Harry's surprise because he didn't even realize he had been laughing.

"Well it's not that funny actually," Harry smirks, "but I was just thinking about how there's no way in hell I'm sending this out with my dry cleaning," he explains as he lifts the kilt up to survey the damage. Sure enough, the entire underside is a sticky mess just like he feared it would be.

Niall just shrugs. "I'll send it out for you," he says before gathering Harry into his arms resting their foreheads together.

"You mean you'll get Tara to do it?" Harry corrects him as he reaches down to pinch one of Niall's nipples.

"Hey! Who's side are you on?" Niall yelps and tries to move away but Harry holds him firmly.

"Always yours, my love," Harry grins before leaning in to kiss Niall again and again. "Team Niall, all the way," he whispers against Niall's nips.

"That's more like it," Niall smirks and rubs his nose against Harry's.

"So," Harry says softly as he pulls back and brushes the hair from Niall's face, "where do we go from here?"

"Dublin, for starters," Niall says and reaches for Harry's hands. He takes hold of them both and gives them a squeeze before he continues. "Then how about we take things slow? We've both just barely gotten our tours started so that's going to take up a lot of our time - "

"But we can make time for us, right?" Harry asks hopefully. "We've got scheduled breaks so we can meet up in L.A., or Tokyo, or the moon for all I care, as long as I get to see you."

"Of course, darling," Niall smiles sweetly. "I'm not making the mistake of losing you twice," he adds as he leans in to kiss Harry's forehead.

"You didn't lose me the first time," Harry reminds him. "It was all my - "

"Nope," Niall cuts him off with a shake of his head and a soft kiss on the lips this time.

"We are absolutely not revisiting the past, okay? I'd really like to move forward and make things work for us. We're going to keep communicating, make more time for each other, and -"

Now it's Harry's turn to interrupt. "Live happily ever after?"

"Just like a fairytale," Niall nods and pulls Harry back onto his lap.

"I love you," Harry says suddenly as he cards his fingers through Niall's hair.

"I love you more," Niall insists and drags Harry into another kiss before he has a chance to argue.

(Spoiler alert: they definitely live happily ever after.)

#Narry #Niall Horan #Harry Styles #everything we do #my writing #sorry I'm posting this again #not reblogging #because it wasn't originally showing up in the Narry tag #tumblr is so frustrating #I deleted my first post #and had to re-do it

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elsaclack · 5 years

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hello it's me the romcom anon and i have another q! do you ever read your own fics and squeal/feel your heart flutter at certain pining scenes or moments of tension? almost as if you're reading someone else's work i suppose? if so (and if it's not too much trouble), which fics/scenes are they?

OH HI have i mentioned lately that you’re my favorite anon??? i just!!! love you!!!

and i put my answer under a cut because i am INCAPABLE of being short-winded about anything ever under any circumstances

i will be honest and say that yes i do sometimes go back and reread my own fics after i’ve posted them - which i’m starting to realize more and more is a pretty normal thing to do - but it’s less like i’m reading someone else’s fic and more like,,,i don’t even know how to explain it honestly. like i’ll reread it as i’m writing it and then i’ll go through it a couple of times right after i post to look for mistakes i didn’t catch before posting, but once i’ve posted something i usually have to leave it alone for at least a few months before i can go back and reread it again. and by then i’ve forgotten some of the details so while i usually remember the main plot, there will sometimes be little lines of dialogue or adjectives or adverbs i don’t remember that are like little !!! moments as i’m reading

but like i just had this happen to me not too long ago, i forget what fic i was reading but it was in the context of a conversation between jake and amy and i was reading jake’s dialogue and in my head i was like “i should have used the word ‘rasped’ here” and then i got to the end of the line and i had written “...Jake rasped.” and i was like oh!! i did do that!! it sort of feels like that spiderman meme when there are two of them in an alley pointing at each other like !!!! same person !!!! when i wait long enough to forget little details like that but idk lmao

i haven’t really revisited it in a while just because i’m dumb and i feel guilty about not updating but!! one scene i reread a few times (and like fixated on bc i Really Liked It) was the fight scene in the second chapter of king and lionheart. mostly bc when i was outlining that chapter i think the only line i dedicated to the actual fight itself was “and then they have a crazy knife fight (good luck future me)” so i was proud that i was actually able to construct an entire fight from that lmao. i just!! really liked writing an amy that isn’t overthinking or anxious, who is so completely in the zone that she’s able to literally throw jake across the bar, fend off a trained assassin, chase that assassin out into the street after getting stabbed, and then immediately turns that feral part of her brain off upon remembering that jake is hurt and needs help

i’ve always liked to write scenes where one of them is hurt or otherwise in pain and the other is kind of stripped down to the most basic emotional response of needing to protect - when i first started writing i liked to put amy in physical danger and jake in emotional distress because of that, and also specifically because the show always has it the other way around, but in that scene i really enjoyed flipping my own go-to on its head and having amy be the ferociously protective/overworried one. that’s not really what you asked but any fic that can pull that dynamic off (with jake/amy in either position) Kills Me every time so those scenes are usually the ones i linger on, in my own fics and in other people’s lmao

AS FOR FLUFF i think i revisit don’t read the last page more than any other independent one-shot. i wouldn’t say that it’s one of my more popular fics or anything but i wrote it mostly out of self-indulgence, because i love the way taylor swift’s song new year’s day makes me feel and i wanted to see if i could write a fic that made me feel the same way. there are a few spots that are a little clumsy wording wise and i don’t know that i’m 100% satisfied with the ending, but overall rereading it makes me feel really really content and sort of weightless, which is exactly what i was going for

and i’m just now realizing that in both of those that i linked, amy’s arm is injured so like maybe there’s a pattern and maybe i’m the most predictable human on the planet

#em answers #nice people #seriously anon i adore you and i WILL name my firstborn child after you #Anonymous

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ofgoldenfruitborn · 5 years

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How would the Kais react to being told that someone fell in love with them (including Shin)?

There are so many possible answers to such a question, depending upon, for example, the general dynamic of the Kais’ relationships with the person confessing their love, whether or not they were aware beforehand that the person felt that way toward them, whether or not they in fact loved the person back, and so forth. Lots of scenarios could be believable depending upon the factors surrounding the event!

So, let’s assume for the sake of these answers that the confessions are coming from people whom the Kais love in return, and whom they already have some kind of mutually acknowledged entanglement with:

Tora would probably act smugly assured about it in the moment – like ‘oh, yeah?’ – as something of a subtle distancing tactic, to give himself time to think. I don’t think that love would be easy for him; not because he can’t love, but because he doesn’t strictly know how to love, or how to act such an emotion out. I also don’t think that he’d entirely understand how to accept love, and, oddly enough, some very particular emotional walls might go up or thicken further for awhile when he realized that someone was beginning to feel so strongly for him in the first place. It’s not because he thinks of himself as strictly unlovable, but more like he doesn’t expect soft sentiments of that magnitude to be directed at him at all. He expects other things – respect, admiration, competition, desire or lust, frustration, even hate – but love–? Not so much. It’s likely that he wouldn’t return the sentiment right away, but instead would choose his own, later time, after having given it some thought, to say it for himself, not as a response but as its own, independently expressed sentiment. He wouldn’t find it comfortable or freeing to say. In fact, he might very well prefer to not say it, if it can be at all helped; though perhaps in time I’ll be shown wrong on that.

For as much as Hushen would always cherish being told that he was loved, even if it was the 10,000th time, I think that the first time hearing it from his special someone would always hold a particularly dear place in his heart. Hushen loves the sense of being desired and chased, he loves the ‘game’ of flirtation and wooing, but too he loves the sense of being caught and feeling that he has caught someone else in return. A love confession is something special that he would never take lightly. Hearing that for the first time would be a warmly endeared, happy occasion, and he’d be apt to fawn over the person as though they had just given him an especially rare, one of a kind gift. (As far as Hushen is concerned, that’s precisely what it is.) Hushen’s response would leave little question in their mind that, indeed, it’s what he’d wanted to hear, and too that he loves them in return.

Heyva’s most immediate response to a love confession would likely be something akin to a freeze, as if the whole of the moment is a bubble that he fears will pop if he does the slightest thing to disturb it. In a way the response would be rooted in a wish to preserve the moment as it is for as long as he can – (the sense of being, if but for an instant, known, understood, cherished, wanted by, and connected with another) – because in truth he would never expect such a sentiment to be directed his way, much less spoken to him aloud. It’d be little shock then if there was some part of him which couldn’t help but believe that the feeling would be taken away or revoked again just as quickly as it was granted. Privately, in the wake of those words, there might be some sense inside him too that this is a piece of what he’s been missing when it comes to his relationships (or lack thereof) with others. It’d be bittersweet and perhaps even a bit world-shaking to realize that even he could partake in this most good and wondrous of thing, if he wanted; but also that so much of his time has been spent simply assuming the opposite. The words would hurt him in a way that he perhaps needed at the same time that they healed him. As a result, it might not be immediately obvious to the other person whether or not he was happy. Very likely he’d just stare mutely at them, looking like he wants to speak but being unable, hands beginning to flap, frustrated, the longer the moment drags on. He would be happy though, ultimately. Hopefully someone who came to love him the first place would too be patient enough to understand why he needs this moment to himself before he can hope to reply.

It’s likely that Talma’s first response to a confession of love, most particularly if it came from a mortal lover, would be something like anxiety, or even shame. He would be happy; no doubt that he would have wanted desperately to hear those words from his lover. At the same time though, even if he had known up until that point that the person most likely loved him, to at last be faced by the words themselves would force him to acknowledge to himself, with no punches pulled, that he had allowed someone to become close to him in a way that he isn’t yet sure is meant for his kind to experience. The “selfish” side of him would be more happy than he knew how to express at the sense of feeling loved and cherished by another person; but the perfectionist side of him, who wants to be a “good” Kai, utterly above reproach, would be torn, knowing that he was flying in the face of (what he’d been taught was) propriety by allowing himself to indulge in such a ‘distraction’. On one hand he’d feel dirty and presumptuous, like he was willingly turning his back on his ability to be an absolutely flawless Kai; but on the other hand he’d feel guilty for feeling that way in the first place. Overall he’d be very confused and anxious, wanting to be loved and knowing that he wants to continue forward with the relationship, but too feeling like he must surely be sacrificing some of his commitment to duty and selflessness if he’s willing to go down this path. It’d take a patient and empathetic lover to help untangle this knot.

Shin’s initial response to a love confession would be the most similar to Talma’s, albeit not so severe. It’s likely that he would have grappled with the worst of his fears about allowing himself to partake in such a relationship when the prospect of entering one in the first place was initially dumped into his lap; or rather when he was no longer able to ignore or dance around the draw which clearly existed between him and the other person. He would have seen that point – the point where they had to decide between themselves, ‘what are we? what do we want to be with each other?’ – as a crossroads, at which he had to determine exactly what he was willing to allow himself in the way of romance and all its trappings. Getting Shin to a point of being willing to attempt navigating a romantic and/or physical dynamic at all would probably be the hardest part of the battle. Once he decided though that, yes, he was willing to try it, and had acknowledged as much to himself that and to the other person (even if indeed he still had some anxieties about whether or not it was truly something he could allow himself to explore while still aspiring to be a good and proper Kai), he would commit to that attempt very earnestly, in spite of his nerves, inexperience, and uncertainty. Being faced with these words for the first time would almost certainly bring up those anxieties in him again, but too he’d know that he already committed to this. He’d already decided to try. So, the words might make him nervous or ungainly, but too they’d make him happy, even a bit giddy in some strange, hard-to-define way.

#OOC #answered #Kai Tora #Kai Hushen #Kai Heyva #Kai Talma

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sisterspace · 5 years

Text

A CAUTIONARY TALE AND MANY DREAMS DEFERRED

On early Sunday morning August 16, 2015 my ex-boyfriend Lamar Davenport murdered his girlfriend E’dena Hines. The other day he was sentenced to 20 years in prison for first-degree manslaughter. It made headlines because she happened to be Morgan Freeman’s granddaughter. I have been having nightmares since she lost her life because I was very well aware of her. He made it official with her right after him and I ended so many years ago. There were many articles that poured out immediately after the murder but none of them touched on what really needed to be said. None of them took the chance to make a statement that would matter. None of them took the opportunity to make sure E’dena Hines’s death was not in vain. Unfortunately this type of crime happens every day, perhaps not as gruesome, but women are killed by people they were in relationships with every day, and there are usually signs. If we can learn to notice these signs then maybe we can prevent more senseless deaths. That is my sole reason for speaking out.

I wavered back and forth for a while on whether I even wanted to speak on this matter. I am not interested in bashing Lamar (a lot of that has already been done). I am also not interested in defending him. He committed a heinous act and should suffer the consequences for his actions. My only interests are to speak to other women to help them recognize the traits of a potential abuser or an abusive relationship so they can get out, help individuals recognize those signs in their family member or friends so they can push them toward getting help, and to encourage those who are abusers themselves to seek help before they do something they regret for the rest of their lives. I feel my relationship with Lamar could serve that purpose. Many people who are in abusive relationships do not even know it. As with me, this could be happening in your life right now but the picture looks a little different than you expect so you may not notice it.

I was involved with Lamar for approximately 3 years. We started out as friends and he eventually became my best friend. He was sweet, smart, attentive, and very religious. When we would hang out we would write songs and brainstorm ideas off of each other. My creativity was at its peak when we were together. He was able to make me feel like I was the most special person in the world. I do not know if it was real or not but out of all people I have met I think he believed in me the most, and I believed in him as well. His passion fueled mine. Even with such a positive impact on each other there was still a destructive element to our relationship. Often times our time together included drinking and getting high. Something I would indulge in when we were together because I felt safe with him. Whenever I would get too drunk he would always walk me all the way home. He could be a gentleman like that.

One night at a mutual friends party I got so drunk I could barely walk without assistance. He wrapped his arm in mine and proceeded to walk me home like usual, but this time I noticed us going toward the roof instead of downstairs out of the building. I remember him laying me down on the floor so I could sleep it off, and waking up to him inside of me. I said to him “What are you doing?” He leaned down and kissed me and said, “It’s alright.” My mind couldn’t decide if this was sweet or was I being violated? But I never imagined violations being so tender. The mixed emotions caused tears to stream down my cheeks. I liked Lamar; in fact I had a serious crush on him at the time. I had imagined us making love one day…. just not that way and not without him actually being my boyfriend first. I tried to push him off but couldn’t muster any strength in my arms. He kissed me again as to comfort me and again assured me it was okay. So I relented. The next morning, not being sure if I dreamed everything I asked him “did we have sex?” He told me “yeah” with a huge grin on his face. It would be some time before I realized that’s actually rape.

I convinced myself I had an equal part in that night due to being inebriated. So when I found out I was pregnant I decided to “give him a pass” because I loved him and felt he didn’t really mean any harm. The only problem is it later happened again. I say this to say; I have seen how Lamar could get when he is intoxicated so it wasn’t hard to picture what occurred on that fateful August night. If you are someone who notices that situations get out of hand when you get intoxicated then that is something you need to make the sober decision to stay away from.

After that night Lamar and I continued to be involved. I figured we had already had sex so we shared a special bond now. I grew more attached to him. As I fell deeper and deeper in love with him the more he seemed to resent me. He constantly spoke of his love for another woman. He was having sex with other women as well which I was in serious denial about. He made disparaging remarks about my appearance and in an effort to find out why he would not commit to me I would ask him what was wrong with me and he would tell me. There was always something wrong or something I was not doing. It killed any remnants of self-esteem I had. “At least he was being honest” I would tell myself. My mind was so mixed up there were times he would physically hurt me and I would end up apologizing to him. Even with all of that, he would always do or say something that would give me hope that one day he’d be committed and I would get all the love I saw he was capable of. I hoped him spending so much time with me would reveal to him that I was the one he needed. Sitting here older and wiser I say to all of the women reading this, if “hope” is a big part of your relationship, let it go. Hope isn’t real. Your relationship needs to be based on the good that is actually happening and not the hope that things would get better or return to the way they once were. If hope is the main ingredient of your relationship take the steps needed to walk away.

One of the most confusing things is being abused by someone you love. No matter how much you are being hurt, your heart tells you to protect them. We must recognize this and fight those tendencies. One time he punched me in the face in front of his friends and a few days later they were pleading his case to me. “You know Lamar would never intentionally hurt you.” Everyone made me feel like I was overreacting. I did not trust my gut but went along with what was easiest to believe. If these actions mirror those of your friends, please get new friends. Your well-being should be any true friend’s priority. Do not allow anyone to stay in your life that enables your victimization. Also if you have a friend that you constantly witness disrespect their partner, ignoring it or “minding your business” is only encouraging them. Your speaking out maybe what they need in order to get help.

One of the things that could have helped me was the school we both attended. When he punched me in the face, instead of counseling me on abusive relationships the staff at the school made it seem like it was a mutual fight. We were not asked any questions to find out the dynamics of our relationship. No one took me aside to talk to me privately. The staff at the school let me down and it also let him down. This could have been an opportunity to teach him anger management techniques that would have saved his life down the line.

I eventually became pregnant. I was so sick during that pregnancy that I loss the baby and my doctor told me not to have sex for at least 6 weeks. Lamar came over to my house that night extremely high and drunk and tried to have sex. I told him that I could not have sex for 6 weeks. That did not register with him and he took it by force. I was pushing and kicking him off and he overpowered me and had sex with me anyway. After it was over I was crying and I said to him “You just raped me.” He was furious yelling “how could you say that to me?” “How could you think I would do something like that?” He was so angry that it made me feel guilty for hurting his feelings. I spent the rest of the night apologizing to him and doing things to try and “make it up to him”. This night resulted in my second pregnancy, immediately after the loss of my first one. I endured all the disappointment from my family and friends without saying a word. I allowed everyone to think I was just irresponsible because I wanted my child to have a father. If they were to view Lamar negatively it would turn into a huge mess that I wasn’t ready for.

Despite us not being in a perfect place I looked very much forward to having my child. One day Lamar told me he would come with me to one of my ultra-sound appointments. I was excited because this was the first one he had been to. He was a little late but he did show up, but he also showed up high. His eyes were glassy and he was acting spacey. I was angry and disappointed that on such an important day with our new life he would bring old habits into the equation. I needed to see him grown up. I needed to see that he could be a responsible father and he was proving otherwise. When we saw our baby on the monitor it was magical and I saw his eyes light up. I knew it meant something to him. When the doctor left the office he started going through the drawers and stealing miscellaneous items. That is when I knew he would not be able to be a responsible father. If I had this baby I would never get away from his destructive behavior and I would be including a new innocent life to the equation. I could not do that, for once I was going to use my better judgment. I told that to Lamar and he said flatly “If you kill my baby, I will kill you.” Part of me believed him but I knew what I had to do. Aborting my child was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. One I regretted until three years ago. I overlooked what he said but threats should always be taken seriously.

What finally gave me the strength to leave was reading something he wrote in an online journal all our group of friends had access to, where he described having to “will himself to sleep with me” and how “ sleeping with me was good practice for the woman he actually loved”. Deep down I always feared he felt that way, but it was something about the public humiliation of it and seeing it in writing that cemented it into my heart. Truth is I should not have had to read it to finally get the hint. If only I recognized all the things that all lead to the same destination back then. But hopefully I can prevent someone from needing proof set in stone before they walk away. Your instincts are enough.

There are many reasons a person maybe attached to a relationship that is not good for them. The up and down feelings can be so intense it is like adrenaline. The connection I had with Lamar was nothing like I had ever felt before. Even today, it is something that I look back on as uncanny. Most people do not understand me, but he got me. Being around someone who understood me without having to say a word was refreshing and something I desperately wanted to hold on to. It was so valuable to me and I never thought I could find it again. But now as I sit here in my 30’s I can say with over 7 billion people in the world there are many people out there who will understand you. It is all about being patient enough to wait until they come into your life. Your life is worth that wait.

One of the saddest things in this whole situation is all the unrealized talent. Who would be open to Lamar’s talent now? And his talents were breath taking. He was an avid writer. In the years we spent together he had filled about 8 full composition notebooks with songs. Thoughts now run across my mind about his family and all the people dependent on him. He was great with kids and appeared to be nothing but a doting father. His immediate family adored him and he was very much the apple of their eye.

So is this man who murdered his girlfriend in cold blood evil? Is he crazy? Did he have some sort of undiagnosed mental illness? Was it the drugs? I don’t know. I have not examined him nor do I have the expertise to diagnose him. I can definitely say he was disturbed but we all just looked at it as part of his quirky personality. There was a lot of missed opportunity for us to get him some help. There were a lot of missed signs. I wonder if others are experiencing as much guilt as I am. We all could have done more to prevent this. He was a powder keg.

After I got the strength to walk away from him a year or two went by when I received a text message from him out of nowhere. It was an apology. He said he was sorry for everything he put me through and told me I did not deserve any of it. His words seemed sincere. I had not pushed for an apology nor did I hold my breath for one, but I would be lying if I said it did not help with the healing process. It is difficult for me to see someone with remorse as pure evil.

After his apology there was contact via social media but I stayed out of his life. Lamar is easy to love and a part of me still loved him, but I did not trust his ability to not let chaos into our relationship and I did not trust myself not to slip into the darkness with him again. I knew I had to love him from a distance. That was not easy for me so I developed a tactic to help give me the strength where there wasn’t any. I wrote down all the bad things he had ever done to me and all the negative emotions I felt being with him and I read it every day for a year. Whenever I felt like reaching out and calling him I would read that list and it reminded me what I never wanted to feel ever again. Eventually it got easier and I did not have to look at the list anymore. I suggest whoever is bound to a toxic relationship to develop different techniques that would keep them safe and keep them from going back.

A relationship should feel good. You should not feel like you are walking on eggshells, never knowing if you and your partner will have a good day or a bad one. You should not feel anxious that you may say the wrong thing. You should not have to maneuver around their moods.

I must also say we focus a lot on the woman in domestic situations; teaching women how not to get raped and how to leave abusive relationships, but who is catering to the men? One thing I take from this is that Lamar should have had places to turn to. Men with anger issues sometimes do not know they have a problem because society encourages aggression in men so fits of rage are seen as normal. I would love to see workshops, classes and programs where abusers can go to get help without shame. The only way we end this epidemic is if we include men in the treatments and solutions. Just calling them evil won’t make any man get help, and our goal should be solutions. I would love to see men who overcame this affliction speak out and talk to other men and guide them on how they can rid their violent urges and become better men.

Friends and family should speak out when they notice this destructive behavior and when they do they should have a place to refer their family member to, to get help. So far in society we only work on half of the problem.

I implore women to notice the signs and do not ignore the tales of other women involving your guy. They aren’t just “hating on you” or “mad that he won’t be with them”. I happen to know that E’dena was contacted by other women and in an effort to stay above the fray she chose not to indulge it. I wish she had.

Lastly the focus of this article was about men abusing women, but abuse can happen between any gender and orientation. Women can abuse men, abuse can take place between same sex partners, inside the LBGTQ community and it can also happen within platonic friendships. Abuse does not discriminate. This is my personal story but I hope this is read and applied to whatever relationship is relevant and I hope it speaks to the heart and gives those who need it the strength required to find peace within themselves.

As far as Lamar is concerned I would like him to get the help and counseling he needs. I would like to see him not touch drugs ever again. I would like to see him live with a clear mind. I would like to see him get to the bottom of his issues and understand all his mistakes and actively work to not revert back. Most of all I wish healing for his family, healing for E’dena’s family and for her to be at peace and her life still be able to have an impact.

This can help if:

your partner tries to control your behaviour

your partner threatens to harm you, your pets or people you love

you’re scared of your partner.

Girl facing away from upset boyfriend

Key signs of an abusive relationship

An abusive relationship isn’t just limited to physical violence. It can include sexual, emotional and physical abuse, and may involve control of your finances. Here are some signs to look for.

Possessiveness

They check on you all the time to see where you are, what you're doing and who you're with.

They try to control where you go and who you see, and get angry if you don't do what they say.

Jealousy

They accuse you of being unfaithful or of flirting.

They isolate you from family and friends, often by behaving rudely to them.

Put-downs

They put you down, either publicly or privately, by attacking your intelligence, looks, mental health or capabilities.

They constantly compare you unfavourably to others.

They blame you for all the problems in your relationship, and for their violent outbursts.

They say things like, 'No one else will want you.'

Threats

They yell or sulk, and deliberately break things that you value.

They threaten to use violence against you, your family, friends or a pet.

Physical and sexual violence

They push, shove, hit or grab you, or make you have sex or do things you don't want to do.

They harm you, your pets or your family members.

In Need of Help?

#metoo #me too movement #lamar davenport #morgan freeman #abuse #rape culture #relationships

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