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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 5 years ago

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Sweet Pea//i have called you darlin' and i'll say it again

Request: Can I request a super fluffy Sweet Pea/Reader, the song Make you Mine by Public is kinda song I'd recommend listening to for it, not necessarily a song fic but just like Sweet Pea flirting/crushing on reader sort of thing

hey! so i had an idea for this and i really hope you like it! its a bit different to how i usually write and maybe a little different to what you were expecting. but i dunno, i just really liked the idea. i hope you do too! (if you don’t just tell me and i’ll write something else because this is a little different to the request) also, ‘lips’ is an inside joke between me and my girlfriend, and this is going to look really weird here but if you read on you’ll get what I mean.

From the moment Sweet Pea saw you, he knew you were the one.

He’d finally made it to the end of the first week of college, and with the help of his roommates he’d been invited to the first party of the school year.

If you’d asked him a year ago where he would be in 12 very long months, he definitely would not have said stood in a frat house, playing beer pong a bunch of Chad’s and Jason’s. But here he is, and to his surprise he’s actually enjoying it. A lot more than he thought he would.

He knows he probably should be back in his dorm, studying or sleeping or whatever freshman are supposed to be doing. But after the first week he’s still feeling a little lost. He doesn’t have any of his friends as Toni and Fangs both went to different college’s in different parts of the country. Classes are long, homework’s confusing and teachers are rude.

He’s surrounded by people that are so different from the ones back home, and so he can’t help feeling that he sticks out just a little bit. He’s unsure about the world of college, and so maybe going to a party will help him understand everything a little better.

But then he see’s you and everything falls into place.

You’re stood on the other side of the crowded room, a small red cup in your hand that matches those of the people around him and he looks down at his own drink, realizing that maybe he should have poured the bottle into the plastic cups everybody seems to have, even if they are ridiculously small and make him look like a giant.

You’re laughing, your head tilted back, your nose scrunched up, your eyes closed as the people around you join in. Your little group seemingly in their own world. Complexity unaffected by the loud music and even louder people.

He realizes he probably looks at least a little weird just staring at some stranger, but he can’t take his eyes away from you. He’s being pulled towards you, he has a need to talk to you, like his entire future balances on you.

It takes a while, but he eventually talks to you. And after some awkward moments, the two of you are stood in the kitchen. He’s happy for the first time since he left Riverdale. You laugh at something he said that wasn’t meant to be funny and he feels the entire world fall away around him. It’s just you and him. Him trying desperately to make you laugh, and you doing it probably out of pity.

You suggest a walk after a few minutes of shouting ‘what’ at each other trying to be heard over the music. And when he raises an eyebrow in surprise, you notice and make sure to to tell him it’s nothing funny, it’s just to talk. He agrees and you grab his hand, pulling him through the living room.

You ask him if he knows what a french exit is and he shakes his head. You smile at him, its small but no less breathtaking and full of questions he wants answers to. ‘I’ll show you’ you say and for a second he’s worried that he’s got himself involved in something sketchy, something that Fangs told him he would have to be prepared for, something of which he told him to ‘fuck off’ for.

But then you grab his hand and pull him towards the back door. It slams shut behind you and you’re both left standing in the back garden. It’s cold, an autumn breeze hanging around but it’s a welcome on your warm skin and you hope in the darkness that he can’t see the soft blush that dusts your cheeks.

He watches you look around, a confused expression on your face before you look back at him, a slightly embarrassed smile settling on your lips. ‘I thought we could get out this way’. He laughs, making your smile brighten and even though you still feel embarrassed it’s not so bad anymore.

‘We could climb over the fence.’ He suggests, you follow his gaze until the two of you are staring at a large wooden fence.

“Are you being serious?’ You ask, blinking at him.

“It’s not that high.”

“Maybe not for you, big foot.”

“Wow, like I haven’t heard that one before.” He says eventually.

“You know what they say, college is about new experiences.” You send him a sarcastic smile, to which he just laughs and shakes his head at. “Speaking of, if you want to climb over that, you’re going to have to help.”

“Or we could just go back in and go through the front door.” He says, looking back at the house but you’re already stood by the fence, waiting with your arms crossed.

“Nope.” You shake your head. “Once you’ve french exited, you can’t go back.”

“French exited? Is that a word?” He asks, getting on one knee so he can help you over the fence. You smile at him before throwing your bag over the fence and grab his shoulder, ready for him to push you up.

“Yep.” You reply, pushing yourself up and over the fence.

“In what language?” He asks, following you shortly after. Both of you land with a thud, thankfully on your feet but Sweet Pea still gets a glare after narrowly missing your bag.

“Mine.”

“How did you get into college?” He asks sarcastically.

You start to wander down the street, not waiting for him and it takes him a few seconds before he notices you’ve gone. The moon hides behind the clouds and you sigh, disappointed that there’s no stars out tonight. He watches you look up at the sky and follows your gaze.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You reply, looking back at him with a soft smile.

“I would actually.”

He hears you sigh, deciding that tonight just a glimpse of the moon will have to be good enough, before footsteps start again.

But he continues to look up at the sky, watching a future he so desperately wants paint itself on the cloudy canvas.

A shy friendship that slowly evolves the more you get to know each other. With flirty conversations that always border on something else, both of you terrified to step a toe over the line. It’s filled with innuendos that neither of you pick up on until it’s too late or that make the other blush like mad.

Longing looks when the other isn’t looking that keep you up half the night. And awkward eye contact followed by weird smiles on the rare occasion that you’re caught.

Brushing of fingers when you reach for the same thing...

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. Stop putting the snacks on the top shelf.”

“This is my house?!”

“And?”

And nudging of elbows when one of your other friends says something stupid. Both of you sharing a look because you know for a fact when you’re alone you’re going to laugh about whatever’s been said.

Looking forward to the next day just because you get to see them and constantly checking your phone as you wait for text. Spending hours thinking of different excuses to hang out with another and even more hours afterwards thinking about the time spent together.

Inside jokes that confuse others around you but make you both laugh louder than anybody else.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Sweet Pea?”

“Yeah?”

“Lips.”

“Okay, what the fuck does that even mean? Why are you both laughing so hard? What is so funny about lips!?!!”

Tight chests when you see them laughing loudly with someone else. Wanting to be with each other all the time, just by their side. You don’t even have to do anything, you just want to spend time with each other. Checking to see if they’re laughing at something you’ve just said and feeling an indescribable heartache when they’re not paying any attention.

Watching for the other to walk into a room, and when they finally arrive and smile at you, its like your whole body smiles back at them. It doesn’t matter if its at a party, a class or if they’re just visiting your dorm.

Wanting to be the only thing they see, wanting their heart and soul.

And when your other friends question or tease you about it, you always deny it, even if the redness of your cheeks say otherwise. And always having each others backs despite how much it might hurt.

“Darlin-I mean Y/n.”

“Did you just call her darling?”

“Wha-no. I didn’t!”

“Oh my god! Yes you did. You just called Y/n darling.”

“I didn-”

“Y/n, you heard that right?”

“Nope, I dunno what you guys are talking about.”

“thank you.”

Thinking about what it would be like to kiss them, what their lips would feel like against yours. How they would kiss you. Would it be soft and gentle or rushed? How their hands would feel on your skin or in your hair.

Awkward first dates turn into weekly movie dates as a couple, filled with making out more than watching the actual film and more pizza than you can both handle. Its spent laughing at cheesy rom-coms and Sweet Pea’s aversion to horror films.

You sneaking out the next morning, trying hard not to wake his roommate, despite him knowing you’re there. And Sweet Pea always asks the same question.

“Are you french exiting me?”

To which you always reply, “No, and I thought that wasn’t a word.”

“To you it is so I suppose I’ll let it go.”

You meeting his friends during the holidays, and them loving you. You and Toni talking about how hard college is, and Fangs telling you every single embarrassing Sweet Pea story, his favourite being the almost threesome with Toni and somebody else. Both Sweet Pea and Toni hate it when he tells that story, especially because he tells literally every single person he meets. Thankfully though, you find it funny but promise to not talk about it ever again.

He meets your family and friends the next holiday and it’s your tun to be embarrassed, although none of your stories can beat his though so you don’t feel so bad. You spend the week stealing kisses when no one’s around and making sly remarks about your aunt, uncle and their snotty kid, who’s older than you but acts like a spoilt 8 year old. It’s Sweet Pea that suggests the french exit one night after dinner and thats when you realize you love him.

He looks after you when you’re sick, and you do the same. You watch your favourite movies, cuddled up together under a mountain of blankets and tissues, despite protests of the other one getting sick. And when they inevitably do, the favour is returned. You don’t how you’re both not just constantly sick.

There’s arguments that feel like they won’t end and days that you just don’t want to end.

Shouting and crying and slamming of doors that always ends in long hugs and whispered apologies.

You graduate together, one straight after the other and the two of you are smiling the entire day. Toni, Fangs and your family have flown over to see you both graduate, and they’re equally proud of you both.

You get ready together but Sweet Pea still feels breathless when he see’s you. A small ‘wow’ escaping his lips as he watches you twirl around your room. He grabs your arm and spins you around, earning a surprised squeal from you.

You’re never far apart from each other the whole day, wanting to be next to each other at all times. And it comes in handy when Fangs gets drunk and you have to stop him telling the threesome story to your parents.

You made it! You did college! Well done! Now what though?

It’s time to go out into the real world and Sweet Pea feels like he did all those years ago at that party. Lost. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, where he’s going to live.

But he watches you sleeping peacefully beside him and he knows whatever he chooses it’ll be okay, because you’re there with him.

You figure your lives out together, making sure that the other is always a part of it. And after a while of working in some slightly stressful jobs, that aren’t really what you want to do but something you need to do to live, you save enough money to rent an apartment. It’s small, but it’ll do for now. And the two of you have fun searching for cheap furniture to fill it with. Nothing matches but its perfect and you don’t want it anyway else.

He cooks, you do the dishes and you dance in the kitchen when certain songs come on.

The song that were played at the party when you met and Sweet Pea can never remember the name of it so you always have to remind him.

“Darlin’, whats that song called again? You know which one I’m on about. La, la, la, la.”

“Make You Mine, Sweet Pea. And it’s 3am, go to sleep.”

“Yeah! Thats the one...hey Y/n. Whats it called again?”

“Make You Mine.”

“Already am baby.”

“You’re an idiot.”

The song you sang as you walked down the street together later that night, because he said something that reminded you of it.

“Take me to your best friends, I love you then, I’ll love you now!”

“What?”

“You were talking about your friend Fangs.” You say, now very embarrassed at your sudden outburst.

“His house is a bit far away but we can go if you want.” He replies making you laugh loudly.

When he gets back to his dorm the next morning, he makes a playlist, the first song in it being that one. He calls it ‘for y/n’, and he continues to add to it constantly.

It’s got the one that reminds him of you, and to this day he still tries to fit your name into and fails miserably but it still makes you laugh and thats why he continues does it.

That one song that played in the car on the way to getting groceries that he shout-sang for some reason and you both ended up sat in the parking lot for an extra ten minutes just singing.

It has your go-to karaoke song that you have a little dance routine made up for, that you occasionally still practice in the kitchen, just so your moves are the best they can be for karaoke.

He plays Make You Mine while proposing. What started as doing the dishes after dinner, ending in both of you crying while lying in a heap on the floor after you jumped on him.

And its played again as your first dance at your wedding, but again, what starts as a very sweet and serious dance ends in you doing the routine from your karaoke song.

He grabs your hand when everyone is too drunk to notice you’re both missing, pulling you through the endless corridors of the hotel you’re in.

“What are we doing?” You ask as you clutch your dress with the other hand.

“Do you know what a french exit is?” He replies, making you roll your eyes.

“I do yes. How do you know what one is?”

“Oh, a pretty girl showed me once.”

“And where’s this pretty girl now?”

“She’s married to some loser.” He shrugs making you glare at him.

“Hey, that ‘loser’ is my best friend. And I know for a fact that whoever is marrying him is the luckiest woman in the world.” You scold and he rolls his eyes.

He pulls you through the back door and the two of you stare the fence in front of you.

“I thought we could get out this way.” He sighs.

“We could always climb over it.” You say, squeezing his hand and sending him cheeky smile. “But you will have to help me.”

“Always.”

“Sweet Pea? Are you even paying attention?” Kyle asks, hitting the serpents arm gently. Sweet Pea blinks, staring at the group of boys stood around the ping pong table.

“Are you okay?” Another asks. “You kinda zoned out for a few minutes.”

“I-er. Yeah.” He shakes his head. “I’m gonna go get some air.” He says dazed. He places the cup gently on the table before walking away, he feels dizzy and he has no idea whats just happened.

But then he see’s you and everything falls into place.

Laughing with your friends, your head tilted, your nose scrunched up, your eyes screwed shut, and the whole world stops.

An entire future between the two of you waiting to be lived. A whole life waiting to happen.

He just has to talk to you.

So he takes a deep breath and slowly makes his way across the crowded room to where you’re stood.

It feels like the whole world has stilled as he looks at you, waiting patiently for you to finish your conversation with a dark haired girl, it looks purple in the lighting but he’s can’t be sure, and then he realizes that the hair colour of a stranger isn’t exactly the most important thing right now.

She’s the first to notice him, she glances between him and you before a small smile twitches at her lips, and within seconds she’s gone, taking the rest of the group with. You frown and watch as they leave, confused as to where they’re going.

Sweet Pea coughs awkwardly making you jump and turn around. The room goes quiet, the noise from the music and shouting falls away as he looks at you, a confused expression pulling softly at your features, as your gaze makes its way up to his face. The confusion is quickly replaced with a smile. Its bright and warm and it makes Sweet Pea smile in return.

“Hi.” You lean into him, trying to be heard over the music and Sweet Pea momentarily forgets how to breathe.

“Hi.” He replies, also leaning in. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, and at first it works, that is until he leans in too far and smacks his head off yours. “Shit sorry.” He says quickly, clutching his head while you do the same to your own.

He’s fucked it. He knows he has. He’s definitely fucked it.

“Its fine.” You laugh. “Don’t worry about it. What’s your name?”

“Sweet Pea.”

“Y/n.” You reply. “Do you want to get a drink?”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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bandaigaeru · 5 years ago

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19 - han jisung

synopsis: when you turn nineteen, the first words your soulmate says to you appear on your wrist. you all know that tiktok trend. word count: 6.8k

You gawk at the blank canvas of your wrist. Soon, words would fill the skin and thus seal your fate.

It's common folklore that in the early ages, two Greek Gods by the names of Aphrodite and Ares were sent to Earth. They traveled the land until they came across two mortals. An old married couple living on a farm just outside of today's Patras. Aphrodite was known for enticing people into conversations with her beauty. Over time, the topic drifted to the pair's longlasting marriage as Aphrodite airily asked, "How did you know you were meant to be?"

The elderly duo shared a look attended by small smiles. The man spoke, "We don't truly know, but the feelings in our hearts lead us to believe we are."

Aphrodite was shocked. Something as pure and sacred as love was being tossed around by the mortal world. So, she looked at her husband and ordered him to contact his parents (who were widely seen as the monarchs of the Olympians). After a long argument, Ares managed to pull through. He had convinced his mother, Hera, to pull some strings. From that moment forward, mortals' wrists would be tainted with the first words that their loved ones say to them, but only after the mortal reaches the legal age.

However, this deal would only happen under one condition. Wars and violence would become common among the mortals to counteract the joy that comes with easily finding a lover. Ares took this feat with joy. He made his wife happy while simultaneously becoming the god of war.

Or at least that's what we think happened.

"Y/N? You in there?" the boy across the table waves a hand in front of your face.

Glancing up, you offer a meek smile. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Are you thinking about the words again?" he asks, leaning forward.

He rests his forearms against the cafe's table for a moment before reaching out for your hands. For a moment he just holds them. But then he brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles. In a low voice, he states assertively, "We're in this for the long haul, babe. It's you and I 'til the end. Remember?"

You smile, butterflies clashing against the caves of your stomach. "Of course. Y/N and Hyunjin until the very end."

You retract your hands to bring the straw to your lips. The boy ahead of you simply watches your motions with heart eyes. When he had turned nineteen, he refused to look at the words. He wanted to wait for you. And now, a little less than two weeks separate you from the ultimate conclusion. Even though he was confident you were the one, thoughts at the back of your mind nag the dreaded possibility.

You look over to the road beside the cafe. Through the window, a teenage girl walks her small dog. Beyond that, a traffic jam sheathes the road with cars.

"Hey, um, Changbin and I were thinking about throwing a party for your birthday. Are you up for that?" Hyunjin slips his phone out of his pocket.

As he's unlocking it, you reply, "Yeah that sounds fun. Who all are you going to invite?"

"The boys and whichever friends you want me to," he pushes his phone towards you. It's displaying an empty note page. He continues, "Just put whoever you want."

You adjust the device in your palms before typing out the list of friends you wanted to celebrate with. Kijeong never fails to serve for a good party. Doyoung has connections to getting expensive alcohol. Momo always brings Japanese candies. And so on.

When you slide the phone across the matte tablecloth, Hyunjin marvels at the list. "How do you know this many people?"

"There's only like ten people," you giggle. Then, you tap your finger on your chin and ask, "Don't you know over a hundred?"

As if you had hit a soft spot, he winces back dramatically. "No! It's more like eighty-nine."

A giggle bubbles up from your core and you feel at peace. For once, you weren't stressing over those stupid words. Hyunjin has that effect on you. He could probably distract you from WWIII if it ever happened. And for that, he has to be your soulmate. He just has to.

ii.

Hyunjin had gone out of town on a school trip, leaving you in Seoul with nothing to do but sit around and read heartfelt testimonies of others' first words. One had mentioned that the couple had been dating for barely a week before the words appeared. And then, when they found out that they were dating their soulmate, they got married spontaneously in Las Vegas. Like from a rom-com.

You wanted to be the main character of a rom-com too.

A knock sounded from the other side of your door. Quickly closing the tab and opening your homework, you shout, "Come in!"

Your mother peaks her head in with a drastic bright smile. "Hey there, sweet thang."

"Hi, mom," you chuckle at her goofiness. She enters the room with your dog, Fluffy, trailing close behind.

"I just came in here to talk about the whole nineteen shebang," she sighs, folding her leg under her as she takes a seat at the foot of your bed.

You sit up, adjusting your pillow behind your back. Her smile fades as she begins, slightly hesitant, "Do you have a plan for if it's not Hyunjin?"

"What?" your eyebrows twist. You pick at the corner of your laptop with your nails.

"I'm not saying that he won't be, but have you considered all the outcomes?"

"No, but I don't have to. I know it's him," you shake your head. And suddenly, the doubts come flooding in again. A lot of the stories you've read show a common denominator. A couple that has been dating for a while becoming heartbroken when they've realized what they felt wasn't true love.

Your mother presses her lips into a fine line before glancing down at Fluffy for reassurance. He stares up at her with a smile, tongue hanging from his mouth carelessly. As she releases a heavy breath that seemed to weigh down the rest of the room, she announces, "Whatever happens, just know me and your dad will always be here for you. We love you, Y/N."

Tears begin to pool in your eyes. Stumbling over your words you manage to push out, "I-I love you too, Mom."

Patting the bed, she pushes herself up. "Then I'll leave you to it. Do you want me to take Fluffy?"

You shake your head, "No, leave him here."

She gently sets the Pomsky on your bed. You open your arms to the dog and he barrels towards you. Your mother closes the door on the way out, leaving you alone with the heartbreaking thoughts and a dog to cry into.

Fresh tears fall onto the dog's fur and he curiously looks up at you. He cocks his head to the side and whimpers. In an attempt to stop the mysterious liquid, he licks at your cheeks.

"Fluffy," you sob with an unstable voice as you hug him tightly. "what am I gonna do?"

Outside the door, your mother stands. A hand is covering her mouth to muffle the cries of her own. The buildup of your childhood is reaching a standstill in a week's time. You would be free to make your own decisions and what would your mother have left to do? It was time for you to leave her shelter.

Quivering, your mother lets her hand fall to her side. She has to be strong for you right now. One of your biggest moments is approaching. Sadness cannot deter her support. Although tears are still slipping from her eyes, she straightens her posture and advances down the hall.

iii.

Kijeong sits at your mirror with a glow in her eyes. It had been months since she had gone to a good, unforgettable party. The goosebumps trailing down her legs are a sign it's going to be good, she claims.

But you think it's because your dad cranked the AC up.

"Wear the skirt and the sweater," Kijeong advises. She brings her Starbucks to her mouth, contorting her lips in a funky way so that she doesn't ruin her red lipstick.

You glance down at the outfit she had chosen. It's a fuzzy lavender sweater and a high-waisted black skirt.

"It's cold outside," you protest, looking back at her.

She looks at you as if you've dethroned Beyonce and put Kanye in her place. "Is the party outside? No. Put the outfit on. We're gonna be late."

"Fine, dear party master," you mumble.

You retreat to the bathroom to change. As you're tugging the sweater over your body, you look in the mirror. Huffing, you stomp back to your room. "I look like a psycho Furby that just escaped the asylum."

Kijeong rolls her eyes as she stands from the comfort cave of your bed. She advances to you, tucking your sweater in. "Now you look like a Furby hooker who I'd gladly fuck given the chance."

"My legs feel naked," you cross your legs and ball your fists to hold the skirt down.

"Then put on some fishnets," Kijeong rummages through your closet. She huffs, blindly sweeping her hand on the overhead shelf. Humming in content, she tosses the leggings at you.

You can't win with the party girl.

Barely ten minutes later, you're stepping out of your house with your mother hanging in the door frame. "Be careful. Text me as soon as you find out!"

"Of course," you shout back at her reassuringly as you're climbing into the passenger seat of Kijeong's black Toyota Corolla.

Upon startup, the radio is blaring rap music in a language you're unfamiliar with. She bumps her head to the beat as she pulls onto the road. You stare down at the wallpaper of your phone. It's a photo of you and Hyunjin on your first date to the movie theaters. His head is on your shoulder and his hand is squeezing your cheeks. He looks up at you with those loving eyes and a simper.

Rolling down the volume, Kijeong glances over at you. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek before saying, "I know this is stressful for you, but just live through tonight as if we were partying under normal circumstances. It sounds like shitty advice, but trust me."

Though your shoulders are still weighed down with stress, you smile. "Thanks, Ki."

"I'll stick around you for the whole night if you need me to. And that's saying a lot. Doyoung's bringing wine from the Iberian peninsula and I want that shit," she lightens the mood.

You stifle a laugh. "I can handle it. You go drink that expensive shit."

Kijeong maintains the glimmer of a smile on her lips until she pulls up to Changbin's house. It wasn't necessarily a mansion, Changbin always claimed. In the flesh, however, the truth unveiled a different story.

"Holy shit," you marvel, looking up at the intricately carved pillars.

At the front door, Hyunjin is there to welcome you. He holds a red solo cup as he's welcoming you with a hug. When you finally pull away, he offers it to you.

"What is it?" you inquire.

"Some kind of fancy wine Doyoung brought," he informs, peeking into the cup as if to examine the dark liquid.

Kijeong snatches it from his hand. She downs it before either of you can react.

"That's good shit," she coughs, "Where's Doyoung?" Her eyes are wide, like a crazed killer feeling the first euphoria of killing.

Still taken aback, Hyunjin slowly gestures over his shoulder. "He's in the ki-"

But it's too late. She's already on the hunt.

Shaking his head in utter awe, he refocuses back to you. "So, how does it feel?"

You coerce a somewhat genuine smile to rest on your lips as you say, "I'm not sure. I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic?"

Hyunjin nods along to your carefully chosen words. To make you feel better, he leans to your ear and whispers, "That's the thrill of becoming an adult, darling."

One of Hyunjin's friends (Seungmin, you think his name was) lunges into Hyunjin, knocking him back from you. "Bro, Jeongin's about to do a fucking keg stand. You've got to see this," he shouts, guiding Hyunjin to the backyard.

Over his shoulder, Hyunjin yells, "Duty calls."

You slowly walk around, taking in the monumental views of parties. People making out on the couch. A girl twerking on the wall. And even someone puking behind the couch.

The humidity of the living room suffocates you. And despite the sea of people wading in your personal space, you have never felt so lonely. The promise ring Hyunjin had bought you strangles your finger almost as much as it was mentally suffocating you.

Your breaths become ragged as people block your view on every side. Desperately, you push through. Beads of sweat congregate in the threads of your fishnets.

A flash of fresh air slaps you across the face as you finally break through. Ahead of you, the back door is ajar. You can spot Hyunjin cheering on a group of people playing cup pong. That Jeongin kid must've finished his keg stand. Or chickened out. He catches your stare. He sends a smile before leaning in to the game to say something. And then, he's walking towards you.

No. You can't face him right now.

Quickly, you fade into the hallway. Glancing into the cracks of each door, you eventually find solace in the bathroom. You lock the door behind you before rushing to the toilet. The anxiety caught up with you and your lunch is now sitting in the toilet. Splashes of yellow cling to the bowl as you flush.

Still shaking, you approach the sink. You rinse the suds off of your hands before splashing your face with the cool water. Rejuvenated, you dry off your hands. Droplets of water fall from your face. You pull your sweater up, using the hairy fabric to lessen the moisture.

Though fresh, you still can't build the courage to reemerge into the pool of bodies.

You glance down at your phone. 11:19. Only forty-one minutes separate you.

You could camp in the bathroom until then. It's a safe haven.

For the remaining time, you sit by the toilet just in case. When there's only one minute left, you roll up your sleeve and stare at the empty skin.

As the clock strikes midnight, your wrist aches. You wince, gazing down. Beneath your skin, what feels like fire ants work together to ink the words letter by letter.

Your heart hangs in your throat. The world stops spinning and you're just sitting there, staring at your arm. The door shakes as someone knocks from the other side.

"Y/N? You in there?" Hyunjin's voice sounds through, though muffled.

So this is what those testimonials meant when they said you undergo an out of body experience. It doesn't feel like you're in control when you slowly rise and go to the door. You open it, still gawking at the words.

"Happy birthday! What does it say?" Hyunjin reaches for your arm with a bright, hopeful smile.

It vanishes when he reads the words. His voice cracks as he reads them aloud, "Brighten the mood, sunshine?"

"I-I'm sorry," you sob, snagging your arm back to bury your face in your hands.

Through teary eyes of his own, Hyunjin shakes his head. "No. Y/N, we love each other." He reaches for your shoulders, but you step back, arms dropping to your sides.

"We're not each others' soulmates," you look up at him.

"They're wrong! They have to be!" he shouts.

You know what's going on in that head of his. There was no use arguing with him.

You slide the ring off of your finger. Slowly, you inch forward to him. You grab his hand, resting the ring in his palm. Then, you curl his fingers up, protecting the ring from the evils of the world.

"I'm sorry."

iv.

You tug your knees to your chest. The empty car isolates you from the flashing lights and booming music from inside the party. All you can seem to do is cry. When the tears let up, you glance down at your wrist and they appear again, stronger than before.

Something comforting rested in those words, though.

A hollow knock from your right trains your focus away. Outside the window, a few boys hover.

"We're Hyunjin's friends," the taller of the bunch shouts, though it reaches you muffled. Standing there is a boy you had crossed paths with a multitude of times before. Seungmin, his name was. From earlier.

You inch away from them quickly. You're practically sitting on the middle console.

"Wait, we're not gonna hurt you. We just want to talk. Jin's taking it pretty hard, and I was sure-" Seungmin reassures, though is interrupted by an elbow to the ribs.

"We were sure," a shorter boy corrects. His face looked familiar, though the strange depth of his voice proved otherwise.

"Right, we were sure you were feeling in the dumps too. Can you open the door so I don't have to keep yelling?" Seungmin offers a small smile as he mends to his ribs with rubbing circles.

Hesitantly, you unlock the door and weakly step out. Your knees almost buckle beneath your weight, but you lean against the car for support.

"So," a different boy speaks with a slight slur, "I'm Jeongin."

"Felix," the boy with the deep voice introduces with a small wave.

Seungmin leans against the car with you. The soles of his feet ache from standing around and rushing people to not disrobe in the living room. Glancing down at his shoes, Seungmin asks with a pitch in his voice, "So, uh, what does it say?"

"Brighten the mood, sunshine," you recite with clarity, though you're choking on tears at the back of your throat. Or puke. You're not quite sure.

"Y'know who would say that?" Jeongin drunkenly laughs, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Not the time-"

"Jisung would say that shit," he declares, despite Felix's warning glare.

Wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder, Seungmin whispers, "I'm sorry about him, this was his first party and he got a little carried away with the drinking."

You shake your head. Seungmin's cologne reminds you of Hyunjin's. Soft but masculine. Woodsy, almost. "It's fine."

"Happy birthday, by the way," he says.

You chuckle for a second. "Happy?"

"I'm not too good with this whole heartbreak thing, but I know this whole thing will blow over. It'll hurt, but in the terms of the universe, this heartbreak is setting you up for finding your soulmate," Felix says.

"The universe is bullshit," you scoff.

"Brighten the mood, sunshine," a boy calls out from the gate of the house. His arms are crossed against his chest and he's onlooking the scene with narrowed eyes.

Your heart is doing a frenzy within the cage of your chest. Playing it off as if you and the boys around you don't know what just happened, you warily shout back, "Suck my dick, mister sunshine."

He jumps back, his own heart caught in his throat. His arms fall to the side and he stares. Mouth fallen agape, he slowly lifts a finger and points at you.

He lets it drop, a smile filled with bewilderment filling his lips. "Hyunjin's gonna kill me."

His name is Jisung and he had been indebted with running to Hyunjin's car to get something when he overheard your conversation. He knew you had no control over it, but he just wanted to be petty for the sake of sparking drama. It was a bad habit, he admitted later on in an apology email he had sent to your student account.

It's been a week since your birthday. Passing Hyunjin in the hallway never takes an off day to open the pit in your stomach. But the butterflies had disappeared the moment you met Jisung. And you fucking hated it. The memories with Hyunjin were too fond for you to succumb to falling in love with Jisung.

"Hey, Y/N," he skips next to you on your way to your final class of the day.

"What do you want?" you stop by your locker. You twist and turn until the lock unlatches.

As you're shoving your books in, he presses his shoulder to the locker beside you and leans close to you. "Am I not allowed to talk to my one and only?"

"Not here, okay?" you huff, slamming your locker shut. You poise your strut with confidence despite the jelly of your legs.

"Can I at least get your number?" he jogs to catch up with you.

"Only if you can convince Hyunjin to talk to me," you abruptly stop.

"What? Why?"

Above, the bell screeches its monotonous tune.

Nibbling on your lip nervously, you say, "Because I don't want him to hear about it around school or something."

"Why can't I just talk to him?" Jisung asks, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

Sighing, you mumble, "I don't wanna ruin your friendship with him."

Jisung's hearty laugh echoes in the empty hall. He grabs your hands, slightly swinging them as he declares, "We'll do it together."

"Go to class," an elderly teacher croaks from the doorway of her empty classroom.

"Meet me after school by the cafeteria," he nods before pressing a surprisingly warm kiss to your forehead.

You sit in eighth period with a permanent smile. Rather than participating in the sociology project, you stare at your palms. They still had his warmth.

Love had a peculiar way of operating. And maybe Jisung wasn't so bad.

"Good day?" Kijeong inquires, her gaze not slipping from her laptop.

You press your palms to the desk as if they held a secret only you could know. As your sight falls over to her, your face burns with heat.

She glances over. Seeing the lovestruck grin sitting confidently on your lips, she gasps. "You didn't-"

"I found him," you shrug casually as if fate had only given you $10 on a scratch-off ticket.

"When?" she grabs your shoulders, shaking you violently.

"Last week. At the party," you cup your head as you prop your arm on the desk.

"And you didn't tell me? Who is he?" her questions fly at you with high velocity and her volume grabs the attention of the people in front of you. They congratulate you with broad smiles before redirecting their focus.

You lean over to her, braving for her bullying spree as you whisper, "Han Jisung."

"The squirrel looking dude? Wait, isn't he friends with Hyunjin?"

Smile slipping from your features, you nod. "We're gonna talk to him today. I still feel so bad."

"Don't be. He's entitled to his feelings and you're entitled to yours. He can be hurt, but he'll have no right to hate you and Jisung for it. And if he does, it'll only be momentarily," Kijeong says, her voice trailing into one similar to her mother's. Wise and pristine.

The stability and confidence in her words spark those own feelings within you. You straighten your posture as you assert, "Yeah. You're right."

vi.

Waiting alone in the cafeteria serves for awkward conversations sparked by the lunch ladies and dirty glares from Hyunjin's fangirls. The whispers fail to bother you as Jisung approaches you with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The butt of his baseball bat peeks out from the zipper.

"Ready?" he breathily says, securing the bag with a tight grip.

"Yeah," you nod, following him as he leads you through the hallways. The walls were painted by the first class. Murals, the principal had announced at freshman orientation. They tell stories, but they usually go overlooked.

As you emerge into the empty half of the parking lot, Jisung reaches back for your hand.

"Where are we going?" you ask to deter your focus from the comfort of his touch.

A glimmer of something that ignites butterflies in your stomach flashes in his eyes as he glances at you over his shoulder. "Going to meet Hyunjin."

Up ahead, you see Hyunjin sitting anticipatingly in his car. His elbow is propped on the door, holding his head as he stares down at his phone. You watch from a distance as he brings the pad of his thumb to rub bits of dry skin flaking from his lip.

You wiggle your hand out of his grip. He stops, turning around to look at you. "I don't wanna hurt him like that," you admit.

"Like what?"

"Like this," you say, motioning to the both of you.

"Oh. Right," Jisung smiles meekly, swiveling around to pursue the upcoming conflict.

You can do this, Y/N. You have to. 'Cos if you don't, it'll hurt him more.

"Hey, bro," Jisung claps against the top of the car.

Jumping, Hyunjin looks up. His eyes are puffy and the bags under his eyes are darker than usual. His hair is in disarray and tousled lazily.

"Oh," he glances between you two. He lets his arm fall to rest against the door. "Hi."

"Hi," you swallow your pride for a moment. Offering a smile, your posture straightens tensely.

"So," Jisung begins, resting a sneaky hand on the small of your back to push you.

Maybe that's why he was your soulmate. He encourages you to fight your own battles. At least, that's what he's doing now.

"Um, I found my soulmate," you nod along as you spoke shakily.

"Oh, really?" Hyunjin forces a smile. "That's good. Who is it?"

You stumble over your words, glancing at Jisung for guidance.

Catching the hint, Hyunjin chuckles. "Nuh-uh. You're lying."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out by someone around the school. You know how rumors spread," you tell him abruptly. Your lips fall agape, exhaling heavy breaths that encourage your body to tremble nervously.

Taken aback, Hyunjin glances down at his lap. He gnaws on his lip. "I'm not gonna lie, it kinda hurts, but I'm happy for you two."

He pauses for a moment, looking back up between you two. The awkward silence is lifted as he laughs. Tutting, he adds, "You two do look good together. I only ask of one thing, though."

"What?" Jisung asks quickly as if he's been on the edge of his seat to talk. You glance at him. His fists are balled by his side and, he too, is shaking.

"I gotta be the best man," Hyunjin points at Jisung, eyes wide with seriousness. Not even a sprinkle of a chuckle clings to his words.

"As if you weren't going to be the best man anyway," Jisung scoffs.

"Wait, if you two are so close, why did you never talk about him?" you propose the question, looking amusingly at Hyunjin.

Jisung jumps back, overdramatically falling to the asphalt and clutching the heart of his tee.

"Look, Jisung's a ladies' man. Even if you can't quite tell right now," Hyunjin shouts over Jisung's fake cries of pain.

You look down at the boy screaming on the ground and shake your head. Yelling up to the clouds, you inquire, "Are you guys sure this is my soulmate?"

"I can't believe you even have to ask that," Jisung finally sits up, gazing up at you with puppy eyes.

"Don't you have baseball practice to get to?" Hyunjin points out, glancing at his radio clock. The time was ticking close to half an hour after three.

"Oh shit, yeah. Seungmin's gonna beat my ass," Jisung jumps to his feet. He nods to you before jogging to the field.

"I'll drive you home, Y/N," Hyunjin offers. Then, the doors of his sedan click.

Oh. That's weird.

"Text me when you get home," Jisung turns around to point at you.

"Don't break anything!" you call out to him.

"No promises," Jisung shouts back.

You dip yourself into the passenger seat of Hyunjin's car. The ride is eerily silent until you ask, "Are you sure you're not mad?"

"Why would I be? Fate brought us here and there's nothing we can do about it," he shrugs, eyes focused on the road. He doesn't glance at you like he normally does when he's driving you around.

Additionally, he says, "I just hope I find my soulmate soon."

"What're your words?"

"Word, actually. It's just 'hi.'"

"That's ambiguous," you state, looking out the window at the buildings whizzing by.

"I kinda like it though. It'll force me to treat every person like my soulmate," Hyunjin remarks, drumming against his steering wheel.

"You say that as if you aren't the nicest person to walk the face of the earth. D'you wanna know what my first words were to Jisung?" you look back to him. A smile is lingering on your lips.

It feels like old times. Before the whole romance thing, you and Hyunjin were actually good friends. Inseparable, even.

"I'm sure they were fine and dandy," Hyunjin mocks, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He offers a look in your direction as he's approaching a stop sign.

"I told him to suck my dick," you admit, fighting the cackle that tempted your throat and left its mark on your lips.

Hyunjin gasps sarcastically. He releases a hand from the wheel to shield his mouth in dramatic disbelief. "The nicest person I know would never say such a thing."

Memories of middle school Hyunjin press the tip of your tongue and you're prepared to tease him when he pulls up to your house.

"Thanks for the ride," you glance at Hyunjin as you're unbuckling your seatbelt.

"Anytime," he smiles. And for a moment, you can spot the genuineness.

Just as you're about the close the door, he says, "Don't break Jisung's heart, okay?"

Offering a meek smile, you reply, "It's not on my agenda."

vii.

The moon casts a soft glow on the rooftop. It encases you in an aura of safety.

Beside you, Jisung whispers, "I can't believe it's been six months."

You inhale the fresh air as your eyes fall. You whisper, as if this were a secret, "I love you."

"I love you too," he says, draping an arm around your shoulders.

"Do you think they know we're up here?" you open your eyes to count the stars.

"If they did, we wouldn't be up here," he points out.

You look over to him. Of all the stars, he shines the brightest. You shift your eyes down to his lips.

Catching your gaze, he mumbles, "You know you don't have to ask or wait for me to-"

With that little hint of permission, you press your lips against his. The world shifts to a halting stop as the breeze fades. Warmth engulfs your body and nerves trickle goosebumps down your spine.

He slips away for a moment too long. Craving the warmth of your lips again, he meets with them once more.

He knows he's going to marry you, but he wants to treasure moments like these. Without the burden of children. Just pure teen love.

Once more, he breaks apart. His ragged breaths are hot against your face as he asks, "Do you wanna go to a party with me tomorrow?"

You hesitate, acknowledging the bore of the party twenty feet below you. "Whose party is it?"

"Seungmin's. Don't worry, it's his little brother's party. No vodka. No Kijeong twerking on the wall. Just pizza and, if we're lucky, a game of Apples to Apples," Jisung describes. You can envision it now. Jisung messily slurping down pizza with grease splattered across his face and hands. And for some reason, you wouldn't miss that sight for the world.

"Count me in."

"Sweet. If the pizza gets snagged, we can go to Dominos or something. I think Jeongin's working tomorrow," he offers.

"We haven't had a pizza date in a while," you state, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Do you even remember what happened last time?" his infamous giggle fills the void of night.

"Yes, but tell me the story again," you hide the blush that paints your face by nuzzling into his boney shoulder.

"I'm not telling the world that awful story!" he exclaims, jokingly shoving you off of him.

"You mean the one where you called our waitress 'babe' because you didn't realize it wasn't me?"

His cheeks burn with embarrassment as he stammers, "I-In my defense, I was looking at my phone. And, and from the corner of my eye it looked like you!"

"Oh so you don't even know what your own soulmate looks like?" you tease.

"Shut up," he pouts, crossing his arms defensively against his chest.

You try to unlock his stiff arms so you can weasel your way in. But he remains strong, chanting that you apologize.

"Fine, I'm sorry," you manage through bursts of laughter.

As soon as the laugh fully slips from your parted lips, Jisung tackles you in a bear hug.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," he repeats over and over. The words fill the air with such simplistic ease. As if they didn't weigh three hundred thousand tons.

The butterflies never grow tame, you realize. Of course, neither does the loud pounds of your heart when he's around. With Hyunjin, at least the butterflies would calm down on the occasion. And your heart wouldn't ache when he was gone for too long.

viii.

You enter the party with the comfort of Jisung's hand in yours. Ahead of you, a piñata swings from a branch and children are circling chairs as a polka blares from someone's phone.

"Ah, you came!" Seungmin grins, clapping Jisung's shoulder and offering you a welcoming smile. You hadn't talked much since the night of your nineteenth birthday.

"Here's his present," you pull a small, wrapped box from your purse.

"What is it?" he interrogates, a small purse to his lips as he examines the box.

"Baseball cards. One of them's signed," Jisung jumps in, draping a lazy arm around your shoulder.

"I might have to steal these," Seungmin eyes the light blue wrapping paper. Jokingly, he tries to sneak it into his pocket.

"Who all's here?" Jisung asks, settling the laughter that followed Seungmin's stunt.

"Hyunjin, Minho, and Chan are playing Just Dance with my dad in the living room. A few of Soobin's friends from school are here. They're the only ones who've shown so far."

"Do you wanna go talk with them? I need to talk with Seungmin about something," Jisung glances at you, slowly retracting his arm.

Bobbing your head, you say, "Yeah, of course."

Before entering the home through the open glass door, you glance back at Jisung and Seungmin. They're boisterously laughing, so the conversation must not be too serious.

You feel bad. For these past six months, Jisung spent every waking minute with you. Aside from his games and classes, that is. Today should be good for him, so he can get out and socialize.

As you poke your head into the living room, Hyunjin shouts as he drops the Wii remote, "Has he proposed yet?"

Stifling a laugh, you shake your head.

"Bro, you're ruining our score!" Chan reaches for the fallen controller. Seungmin's dad sits on the couch contently. He cheers on his teammate quietly.

"What the hell is he waiting for?" Hyunjin's eyes widen as he slowly approaches you with his arms crossing his chest.

You shrug. "I'm not sure, but I don't really care that much. Teen love is nice without the whole marriage question."

Seungmin's dad nods his head at that. Without breaking his gaze from the animated figures dancing, he announces, "Don't feel pressured. Seungmin's mother and I waited until she got pregnant with our eldest. Made the wedding photos a bit more special."

As you're about to open your mouth, a girl around your age with a lavender dress enters from the backyard. "Oh, uh, hi."

Your eyebrows jump as you stare down Hyunjin. He shakes his head before holding the girl's gaze. "Are you here for Soobin?"

Based on the stumbled attempts she made to speak, it was pretty clear what was going on.

"Hyunjin, I think you've just found your soulmate," Minho finally pauses the game, glancing back to send teasing heart eyes.

You slip past the scene, back into the noisy yard. Jisung waves you over with a grin. Seungmin stands close, showing him a random meme on his phone.

You quickly cross the yard, declaring with a broad smile, "Hyunjin just met his soulmate."

"What? Who?" Seungmin asks, radically shocked. He didn't expect Hyunjin to ever find his soulmate. Now he owes Jeongin twenty bucks.

"I don't know her name, but she's wearing a lavender dress and her hair is in a braid," you describe.

Seungmin peers behind you, gasping at the girl he sees. "You're actually joking."

"Who is she?"

"My fucking cousin. I don't wanna be related to Hyunjin!" Seungmin cries, stomping his foot and pushing out his lip like a child.

"Just get disowned. It's not that hard. You already dropped out of baseball," Jisung points out, mocking the way Seungmin had sobbed at their last high school game.

The glare Seungmin holds scares even you, though Jisung doesn't seem phased. You had always admired that confident perk of him. Though, one day, you knew it was going to get him killed.

ix.

With his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, Jisung sleeps. The TV hums at low volume. It's the home shopping network, advertising socks that are moisture resistant.

Your thoughts prevent you from slipping into the dream world, though your eyes were aching with tiredness. It's nearly been three years. Hyunjin and his wife have already wed. Even Jeongin married his soulmate. But Jisung still shows no sign of even proposing.

He couldn't be losing interest, could he? People have said that there are glitches in the system. Inaccurate soulmates exist.

The mere thought trembles your body as tears wet your cheeks. The salt stings your skin. It reminds you of the words inking themselves into your skin. Forever, they would taint your wrist. A constant reminder of the boy stirring beside you.

Huskily, Jisung mumbles, "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," you whisper, the tears creating a scratch in your throat. With the pads of your fingers, you quickly swipe at the culprits.

"Why are you shaking? Are you cold?"

You turn in his arms, sniffling. "D-Do you still love me?"

"Why would you even think that? Of course I do," he tightens his grip on you. As if you would turn to dust and slip away. He buries himself in your hair, basking in the sweet smell of your shampoo.

"Then why aren't we progressing? Why haven't you proposed?" your voice cracks as you break out of his hold. You sprout for air, strands of hair sticking to the dampness on your face.

Sighing, Jisung hesitates. "I guess I'm scared."

"Of commitment?"

"Kinda. I'm scared you'll get tired of me. Or annoyed. A lot of people already think that, but the thought of you thinking it is my breaking point," he releases you, sitting up in the bed. He grabs his pillow and hugs it close to him.

You sit up too. Reluctantly, you place your hand on his arm. Tears sting your eyes as you say, "I could never get tired of you. If anything, I'd die wishing I had more time with you."

Jisung drops the pillow, reaching out to hug you. He plays with the ends of your hair and fights tears of his own as he says, "I don't have a ring right now, but I do want to marry you. Beneath all that fear I truly do. Really bad. Will you do me the honors?"

"Ask it properly," you scold, hiding your laugh by burying your face in his neck.

Your breaths tickle his neck as he grins, "Will you marry me?"

"Of course, Mr. Sunshine. I will marry you."

"Sweet," he slips away from the hug, settling back down into the mattress. With his back facing you, he mumbles, "I'm really fucking tired and probably won't remember this in the morning. Remind me about this, will ya?"

You scoff, picking up your pillow and smacking him with it. His laugh fills the room, drowning out the TV and warding the bad thoughts away in a heartbeat. Jisung has that effect. It's like his superpower.

Spending the rest of your life with this...manchild is a blessing. Every conflict you would ever face would be fought with him by your side. A reassuring hand on your back or his arm draped around you to push you. It's weird. But you weren't quite sure if you would ever trade it for the world.

a/n: not my best, but I needed to write something so here it is.

#han jisung #stray kids imagine #stray kids #han jisung imagine #jisung stray kids #jisung imagine #jisung au #bandaigaeru4419 #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz jisung #skz reactions

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notcanoncompliant · 6 years ago

Text

Flight (And What That Means To You)

Merry Christmas to @darker-soft-starker! <3

@starkersecretsanta

(I read your prompt and my brain took off, totally deviated from the rom-com feel, I hope you still like it!!)

warnings: mild violence, anxiety attack symptoms (kind of)

******************************************************

The Prompt:

Canon Divergence AU - Tony and Peter are neighbors. Tony is not obscenely rich, just a regular Joe, maybe a cop or something and lives across the hall from Peter's apartment. Peter is still Spider-Man and regularly gets caught by Tony limping back to his apartment bloody and beaten, peter gets stuck to his doorknob and there are a lot of awkward moments etc

And away we go...

******************************************************

Like many important things, Tony’s life resets with a ‘bang’.

On his back, ears ringing, staring up at inky-grey smoke that eats up whatever view there had been of the stars, he takes ragged half-breaths and wonders if he’s done enough, if this was the right way for him to go. When his vision tunnels and his consciousness begins to recede, he still doesn’t have an answer.

You’re lucky.

It’s what everyone keeps telling him. Lucky he was far enough away from the blast that he didn’t lose any pieces, lucky his vest held up just enough to keep the shrapnel from burying itself in his chest.

Lucky.

He might be, but it’s hard to feel it when he still hurts like there’s a baby grand parked on his ribs. Harder still when he wakes up, over and over and over, with the taste--the grit--of sand and copper in his mouth the echo of too-hot sun on his skin or the stinging, freezing cling of ice water on his face (in his mouth, his eyes, his stomach, his lungs--he can’t, he can’t, pleasenomorehecan’t).

It takes him four days to wake calmly enough he doesn’t bolt upright, doesn’t frantically pull off sensors and yank the drip out of his arm, doesn’t get held back down and sedated.

It takes four days for him to get his hands on a notepad and a pen.

When he does, he draws a metal behemoth shooting into the open sky.

He has no idea what it means, but he feels free.

‘Indefinite medical leave’ should’ve been a punch to the gut, a slap to the face. By the time they’d gotten around to giving him the mandatory psych eval, though (and it had gone as swimmingly as expected), he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks, and well-acclimated to feeling like he’d taken a fist to the stomach.

Before, he might’ve argued, fought, done his best to prove that he could still be an asset to the team, that his mid-forties are practically his prime, god damn it!

He doesn’t, though. None of it seems as important as it used to.

Being taken off the force is the least of his concerns, not when the tug to vent the dreams (visions, almost) onto paper-canvas-something is so strong he shakes with it.

The dreams are wild. Vivid and jarring. He draws bits and pieces of them all.

He’s got the time to do it, now.

Rogers is the first to stop contacting him. Barnes follows suit.

Clint hangs on a little longer, but ultimately stops coming around after the first month.

Rhodey doesn’t feel like a loss, for all that he and Tony have undeniably drifted apart. Rhodey’s got his family; Carol and the kids. He has time for coffee, for a quick chat sometimes. He doesn’t ask after the dreams. Tony doesn’t blame him.

Nat sticks around a little longer. Stops by every couple weeks. Comes in and drinks his crappy instant coffee and looks at whatever he’s working on. Sees him go from pencil sketches to paint.

When she sees his latest piece, she arches a brow at him.

It’s a glove, she says, flatly. The hint of good-natured amusement sparking in her eyes is nice, even if it’s not enough to counteract the rest of her reaction.

She’s a better liar than the others, because she lies with her whole body, her whole self. It’s only because Tony knows where to look does he see the wariness in the way her glance keeps flicking back to the canvas, catching on the bronze shape, on the spots of bright color that contrast so sharply.

The visit ends more quickly than usual (and they were never long to begin with), the redhead gone after a well-crafted excuse and a lingering hug. Tony knows he’ll see her again, but it still feels like a goodbye, of sorts.

He’s not bitter about any of it, doesn’t blame or begrudge his team for not staying; their jobs, their lives didn’t end when Tony took that blast, when a cut-and-dry shipyard raid (as cut and dry as any raid can be) went a little sideways.

And, if he’s being honest, the relative handful of times he’s seen any of them after his retirement (after four months he’s given up calling it ‘leave’, given up assuming he’ll ever even try to come back), there’s something hanging silently over them, dragging between them.

The feeling of distance (and slight relief when they part) is mutual, Tony thinks.

There’s one constant, outside the dreams. One figure flitting in and out of the corners of his days, his nights, his mind.

His neighbor, Peter, is a mystery. A gorgeous, twenty-something, world-weary mystery who’s eyes flicker too sharply over the whole of Tony’s body whenever Tony opens the door to find him standing there at completely ridiculous hours.

(Not that Tony’s got a healthy circadian rhythm to disrupt, anymore).

It feels less like random kindness and more like he’s been assigned security detail, the kid’s greeting and polite inquiry--How are you today, Mr. Stark? (because he can’t get the kid to call him ‘Tony’)--accompanied by eyes moving too sharply over the whole of Tony’s body, checking for damage, before he’s off again to do whatever it is he does.

Tony’s not really sure what to do with it at first, how to respond. He’s not used to being watched over, is typically the one doing the watching, the protecting. It’s especially difficult the first couple of times, because the kid--Peter--always looks a little worse for wear; favoring one or more of his limbs, and at least one visible, fresh bruise, small scrape or cut marring his features.

He does him the courtesy of not asking about them, because Peter doesn’t ask invasive questions and obviously tries very hard not to look past Tony and into the apartment, important concessions to Tony’s privacy. It’s only fair to let Peter have his, feels like an even (if increasingly painful) trade-off.

He also doesn’t want to do anything to risk losing this. He’s glad his ‘detail’ keeps showing up. Keeps existing.

After a while, it becomes routine. Once a day, Peter knocks, Tony opens, and they have their exchange. It’s...a spot of light in Tony’s world, even if it feels sort of heavy.

The lightness is due in part to the way that, regardless of apparent injury or hour of the day, Peter always offers Tony a genuine smile, even if it’s also quick or small or tired.

Sometimes, though, the smiles are more grimace than anything else. There are bands of steel behind those ones, and Tony wonders how (why) this kid got so strong, and why it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone telling him he doesn’t have to be. On those days, Tony thinks about inviting him in, offering to take a look at the injuries; he’s got first aid training and still keeps his own supplies in his place.

(He doesn’t ever offer to drive Peter to the hospital; the option never seems to occur to him until after Peter’s already vanished, down the hall or into his own apartment across from Tony’s.)

There’s something that stops him, something beyond the respect for Peter’s privacy. Something about the faint blush that appears on Peter’s cheeks sometimes during their short conversations, something about the way his own eyes sometimes drift over Peter’s form in return.

He wonders, sometimes, what Peter would think of the paintings.

He's imagined it a few times; showing him, watching him see them. He doesn't know if Peter's into art at all (not that Tony even really is, not in the technical sense), but it wouldn't really matter; Tony's fantasies don't usually revolve around the younger’s critique of his work.

More than anything, he wants to see Peter in his minimalist-but-cluttered space, sitting on his couch or leaning against his kitchen counter, propped against the windowsill, a mug of something hot in his hands and a truly relaxed smile on his face.

Sometimes the fantasies are less innocent, but...something in him just wants to see Peter safe.

“Okay, we need to talk about this.”

They’re standing in Tony’s doorway, another ass-crack-of-dawn ‘status check’, and there’s blood actually trailing down from Peter’s left sleeve, dripping off the kid’s fingers.

Peter fidgets in place. “...About what?”

In spite of his concern, Tony nearly snorts a laugh at the completely terrible evasion.

He reigns it in, arches his brows. “You’re getting you on the carpet.”

The kid shoots a quick glance downwards at his hand, blanching slightly. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s--it’s really nothing, I just--”

“‘Nothing’ is a papercut, Peter,” Tony snaps. “Putting aside the bruises, fat lip, and the fact you’re obviously favoring your right leg, you’re standing here with blood running down your arm. That’s not ‘nothing’.”

He’s tired and frustrated and afraid, finally venting these feelings after weeks of this, weeks of wondering if Peter’s just going to stop showing up, weeks of being on edge between visits even if they come like clockwork because he just can’t lose these moments, he can’t--and he doesn’t realize he’s moved forward into Peter’s space, how close he is until he finishes speaking.

Peter’s staring at him with saucer-wide eyes, a pink stain on his cheeks, his slightly wheezing breath fanning across Tony’s chin.

Tony backs off quickly, hands in the air. “Fuck, I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Peter says, and Tony watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. “You--I’m okay. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am. You don’t need to worry about me Mr. Stark.”

The determined set of Peter’s jaw is both compelling and frustrating, and Tony just barely manages to muscle back his urge to argue further.

“Just...I’m here,” he says, finally. “If you need to talk. If you need anything. Please.”

Something desperate and pained slashes across Peter’s features, and then it’s gone. The younger man nods, short and tense, turns and disappears into his apartment.

Tony stares at the closed door for another moment, before stepping out and shutting his own door, heading down the hall.

Air. Air will be good.

Air is good. It’s always good. Always helps after the dreams, chills away the sweat, clears his head.

It doesn’t do quite as much, now, when his worries are linked to reality instead of a dreamscape, but it feels good nonetheless.

He stands on the roof of the complex, high up, until the edge of the sky begins to change color. Like he does every time he comes up here, he thinks about his favorite of the dreams, the brief period when his nights were filled with the exhilaration of flight.

He hopes Peter has somewhere like this, that he has something good to return to, his own version of reaching the sky.

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good..."

Wind. Reddish puffs of dust in the air, unnaturally colored sky--everything is wrong, everything is ending, failure, failed, no--

"I don't wanna go, please--I don't wanna go!"

He can't lose him, he can't lose the kid--it's his fault, Tony's fault--he shouldn't have been here, he shouldn't have--

Tony bolts upright, gasping past the taste of dust in the air--gritty on his tongue, in his throat, burning his eyes.

With a clumsy, half-conscious drive, he drags himself up off the couch to the easel, practically throwing the painting of the glove (gauntlet) to the side and slapping a blank canvas up.

He doesn't start this one with a pencil sketch, no swipes of graphite or charcoal. The paint ends up on his bare hands, coating his fingers, and then he's frantically tracing and contouring a face, neck, shoulders, craggy grey rock and more of that reddish dirt--shades of beige and brown, orange and red and blue, grey and black twisting (crumbling) away.

Time is nothing, a non-entity; all Tony knows is the need to touch, to hold, to stop the inevitable--

When it's finished, the energy drains with disorienting suddenness. It's difficult to keep his arms extended, so he doesn't; he pulls them towards himself, hunching over with a sob and burying his trembling, paint-tacky hands in his hair.

The dreams have only ever been abstract; images in a mental blender. Vague human shapes and random objects, landscapes--weird, vivid amalgamations of feelings and colors and sensations. Tasting the dirt, feeling the loss; those things are par for the course.

But none of the people in them have ever had a voice; no one has ever said a word.

He couldn’t make out clear features of the face, even staring head on...but the voice that still rings in his head sounds a lot like Peter’s, and now that the frenzy is over, it’s almost paralyzing.

After an indeterminate number of minutes, the dream fades in the way dreams do, and he uncurls with a heaving sigh and stands, drags himself to the kitchen counter to make coffee.

He's already painted it out, it’s usually enough, but when he sits back down in front of the easel, he feels sick, anxious. His hands are unsteady, knuckles white where he grips the handle of his mug, the liquid inside it rippling slightly.

Patches of the paint are still shiny-wet on the canvas, and part of him wishes it would stay that way, something about the wetness making it seem alive. It's blurred, as though he’s looking at the image from behind frosted glass, but there’s an obvious shape, the body of the owner of that heart-rendingly familiar, rasping voice. It's faceless; a kernel of (relative) normality he clings to, so he can try to convince himself this painting doesn't feel like the manifestation of his greatest failure, of a grave error that doesn't really belong to him but still spreads, aching, behind his ribs.

He's sore everywhere--his shoulders and neck from being hunched over, his arms from being held aloft for far too long. His hands ache, too, and they’re dry, paint cracking and peeling in an ugly neutral blend of the colors he'd smeared on his fingers.

He showers, manages to get the paint out of his hair.

But he can’t watch as the color flecks and melts (disintegrates) from his hands and disappears down the drain.

Every day.

Every day for the last four days.

The dreams and the art are a cycle: he dreams, he draws, he gets a few days respite while he finishes the piece...and then he wakes again from a new nightmare or dreamscape and starts over.

He’d finished the first painting the same day...but he keeps having the same dream. Keeps hearing Peter beg to stay, keeps feeling the body in his hands crumble away to nothing. The taste of dirt in his mouth won’t leave, isn’t touched by coffee or food. He’s got five variations of the same painting piled in the corner of his apartment, and he’d been sure that if he doesn’t do something, he’s going to live the same horror over and over and over.

So he’s doing something.

He’s maybe ending this vicious repetition, but he’s also making up for the way he’s been ending their conversations more quickly, the way he’s been holding back and hiding, pretending he doesn’t see the flicker of hurt on Peter’s face when Tony’s the one who evades, bids farewell and closes the door.

He’s the one knocking, now.

“Mr. St--Tony?”

Seeing Peter like this--standing there in a t-shirt and boxers in the doorway of his apartment, less bruised than normal, looking confused and alive, he looks amazing--blows whatever plans Tony had away, ash on the wind.

He doesn’t think, just sighs Peter’s name and pulls the younger man forward into a tight hug, buries a hand in his hair, presses his face in the softness, too, everything in his head spinning with relief and joy and a painful kind of apology--

--before he notices how stiff Peter’s gone in his arms.

Probably because, in the months since they’ve been doing this, they’ve never actually engaged in physical contact...or had a real conversation beyond the single argument those days ago. Peter doesn’t know about the dreams; he doesn’t know anything, and Tony must seem like he’s having a mental break.

Before he can make himself let go, though, Peter’s arms snap up to wrap around him, tight, so tight it makes Tony’s ribs ache.

It ends too soon, Peter pulling away to stare at him with suddenly wet, red-rimmed eyes and hope so sharp it hurts to look at.

“Are you--do you know? Do you remember?”

Cold trickles down Tony’s spine.

He knows, without a doubt, he should. He should remember, and he doesn’t. It feels like another failure that he can’t say ‘yes’, that he can’t bring himself to answer that hope with something other than tense silence.

His heart breaks when Peter steps back after a few seconds, looking embarrassed and a little panicked.

“Never mind, I’m sorry--”

“Wait, no,” Tony blurts, barely resisting the urge to pull Peter back in. “Don’t--Look, I can’t...I don’t know what you’re talking about, but maybe you could tell me? I just…” He sighs, frustrated at himself, at the feeling that he’s missing something huge and that huge thing is Peter-shaped

“I just need to be around you for a little while,” he finally says. “Is that okay?”

He’s sure he’s going to get a door shut in his face; Peter’s expression is torn, aching, and Tony wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.

But he’s lucky.

“Um, yeah,” Peter says carefully after another long moment, something like resignation coloring his tone. “Come in, please.”

The layout of Peter’s apartment is a mirror of Tony’s, but significantly less cluttered. Pretty minimal, actually, less like a choice in aesthetic and more like he’s only just moved in: a futon and a desk for furnishing, a small microwave and coffee pot on the counter, no pictures on the walls or taped to the fridge.

Tony’s not judging, can’t; he’s never lived particularly extravagantly either, and his studio only looks lived in because of the art supplies taking up a good third of it.

As for the lack of personal touches, of photos, memories...If anything, it makes Tony feel a further sense of closeness, of camaraderie. He doesn’t have pictures up either, not anymore; can’t look at the ones of he and the team, of he and Rhodey through the years. Not since everything changed.

The futon draws his gaze, again, still pulled down flat, like Peter’s just woken up, or had just laid down for bed. Tony stares at the pillow and rumpled, pulled-back comforter, and feels a twist of guilt (not enough to leave, but it’s still there).

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Peter’s saying as he closes the door and moves to stand a little off to the side. “I wasn’t expecting company at...um. Whatever time it is.”

Cracking a joke would be ideal to diffuse the tension, or maybe even giving a generic, polite response (‘it’s fine’, ‘I don’t mind’, or, ‘you have a lovely home, literal man of my dreams’), but when Tony pulls his gaze from the futon, Peter’s lips are curved in a tight smile, his stance awkward, yearning, like he’s trying not to approach Tony, but he wants to.

“Can I touch you again?” Tony asks.

He realizes how it sounds as soon as he’s blurted it out, and as he watches Peter blush, lips parting in silent surprise, he wishes he meant it that way; that he was only trying to finagle his way into further messing up Peter’s bedspread, wanting to touch for a reason so mundane as arousal, instead of out of the powerful desire to reassure himself of Peter’s continued existence.

Before he can apologize or rephrase, he’s got an armful of shaking, but warm and solid, Peter.

Peter’s face--his cheeks, his nose, his lips--are warm, pressing into the bare skin at the junction of Tony’s neck and shoulder, a sensation that takes Tony’s breath away more so than the return of the tight bands of Peter’s arms, one low around Tony’s waist, the other angled up between his shoulder blades.

Fabric tightens across his shoulders and a little at his neck, like Peter’s gripping a handful of his shirt, and Tony feels more than hears the younger speak.

“Yes, please. Touch me.”

Tony swallows thickly and hugs Peter back. The ‘thank you’ is burning in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out...so he lets it. Breathes it strained and hollow into Peter’s hair, the kind of ‘relieved’ that hurts so much worse before it gets better, and Peter shivers in his hold.

It shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t feel better to hold Peter, this virtual stranger, than it does to even think of being near his family, his old friends (his other friends, other; they’re not gone, they’re just...distant--not gone, not gone, not wrong), but it does. It feels right, in a way nothing else seems to feel anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say, “I’m so sorry, Peter, I’m sorry…”

He’s sure he’s holding on tight enough now that it has to hurt, but he can’t make himself stop. His hand ends up back in Peter’s hair, fingers twisting into the soft brown curls, his other hand gripping at the back of Peter’s thin, worn t-shirt, and suddenly he needs more. Needs more proof, needs more confirmation that he’s not dreaming, that Peter’s not going to crumble apart in his arms. He’s just not sure how to say it, if he can--

He flinches when he feels Peter shift, feels him nosing at his throat, feels lips parting.

“I miss you,” Peter whispers, ragged and strained, breath warm against Tony’s skin, and it doesn’t make sense, but it does.

The fading bruises on Peter’s skin taste the same as the pale, unblemished places, are just as soft when Tony’s lips and tongue brush over them, and this isn’t what he’d meant to do, but it’s what’s happening now and neither of them appear inclined to stop it.

They should be talking; Tony should be wondering about the question Peter asked when they hugged for the first time. He should be panicking about how Peter apparently knows him enough to mourn him (he’d said ‘I miss you’ the way Tony talks to his mother, like he was talking to a gravestone) even though Tony had definitely never met him before he left the force, before the dreams. Would’ve remembered a face like his (an everything like his, really).

But they’re not talking. Instead, he’s tangled with Peter on the futon, dragging his lips from bloom to bloom of fading green-yellow-purple down Peter’s torso, his scalp tingling with every reflexive tightening of the fingers in his hair, the disbelief and awed arousal on Peter's face as much an aphrodisiac as the taste of his skin, the texture of it under Tony's hands.

Every motion feels like something slotting into place, the restless places in Tony's mind settling a little further, the empty spaces filling with heat and emotions too big for how little he really knows this person--this beautiful, strong, wonderful being.

Tony’s not panicking. He’s not wondering. He still doesn’t know how this is happening, still doesn’t know Peter beyond the last few months, barely knows him now, but nothing has felt this easy, this right, in a long time.

When Peter spills, warm and liquid, over where their hands are wrapped together around their twin hardness, Tony swallows Peter's soft gasp, kisses him and groans Peter's name as he finds his own release.

There are things he needs to say, things he needs to show Peter, the way he knows there are things Peter needs to show him, tell him.

The enormity is there, a strangely relieving weight, blanketing as they sink into each other in soft, post-coital haze.

It's complicated. It’s bigger than the dreams, bigger than anything Tony can fathom.

But when Tony fades, curled together on the futon, Peter's head under his chin and one of Peter’s hands resting on his sternum…

He dreams of flight.

***

#starker #starker secret santa 2019 #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #nff #tony stark #peter parker #starker fic #multiverse au #canon divergence au

274 notes · View notes

jae-canikeepyou · 5 years ago

Text

| new years | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: first oneshot of 2020! happy new year! 🎉this scenario is inspired by high school musical because i’m a sucker for the trilogy like jaehyun is~😉 haha i do hope you enjoy reading! ~j ✨

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“it’s the new year’s eve y/n! you didn’t come here to be a bookworm!” siyeon pushed you that your body was inclined towards her. it was an annual tradition where your squad would go to the young adult party at the ski resort. since siyeon was a member, bringing in two more people would have a discount during the stay.

walking up the hill, your steps made the snow crunching rich with your calf-high boots. siyeon and heejin shared a look at you, and wondered that even with your goggles, nothing would ever stop you from reading. they guided you by pulling on your jacket sleeve, directing and redirecting the way to avoid obstruction.

it was a good thing they didn’t consider you a person of kill joy, because once you were off the wordful thick texts, you were actually the mood maker of the trio. “let me just finish this before the year ends. it’ll be my twentieth novel.” you said, eyes glued on the faint-burnt paper.

they sat you in between them on the cable car, pulling the lever down and fastening your seat belts tight. “ah.. i love how the cold wind hits into my face. reminds me how winter will always be my favourite season, and skiing? my sport.” heejin placed her goggles on her forehead, breathing in the entirety of the wind.

“i’ll be going with snowboarding.” siyeon flung her hands in the air and the car shook. you, having the fear of heights ultimately stopped you from continuing the story plot. “what about you y/n?”

“siyeon you’re moving too much!” you pinched her cheeks with your little damped gloves.

she side-eyed you for an answer, and you puckered your lips in defeat as put your book inside your jacket. “snowboarding as well.”

“sweet.” she fistbumped you and you did the same. the cable car was approaching to the end and as you got off, a group of boys caught everyone’s attention with their voices, yelling in so much hyperactiveness at the golden hour.

they all huddled in a circle, chanting some words before separating into their respective teams. were they a sports team of some kind?

you and your girls queued to get the equipment and began to suit up. the foot rest on the board was quite loose for your size, but you didn’t bother since it was going to be fastened with the belt strap. for some reason, you had a hard time bending forward to tighten the footing. a flush of regret flowed your body when the book somehow prevented you from going forward.

a sigh escaped your mouth and a figure knelt in front of you. “do you need help?” his deep yet honey voice warmed you from the cold you felt.

“y-yeah.” you replied, avoiding his gaze behind those goggles attached to upper part of his face. one thing that attracted you to guys was their smile. but this dude just inches apart from you already sent hearts flying everywhere.

oh what the.. he has cute dimples..

he has the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. the pearly whites of his was equivalent to the snow beneath him and his small/airy chuckle got your heart beating fast. seeing this ethereal human being made you think that this was how love at first sight must feel like.

everything behind him blurred as if a camera was to adjust its focus to the subject, and a video recorder slowing the pace just so that you could observe him closely.

he waved at you, cutting you off of the short-term trance. “are you okay? is it too tight?” he tilted his head that he aligned his eye-level to yours.

“it’s fine. thank you.” you smiled and took his hand, offering to help you up.

“dude! we’re all waiting!” a voice called him from afar, and he looked back at you again with those cute dimples.

“i’ll catch you later? you’ll be in the resort club right?” he asked, pointing at the building opposite from where you were standing.

trying to balance yourself on the board, your lips utter shy words soft enough only for him to hear. “if i could return the favour by getting you a dessert?”

he pushed to slide himself downhill and waved at you. “as long as it’s green tea or vanilla ice cream! i’ll see you at 2300!”

your chest tightened at the fact he smoothly asked you out—kind of, or maybe that was what you want to take it as. heejin nudged you from behind, whistling and humming away like one would tease the other.

siyeon soon joined the call and they both circled-hop around you. they giggled at the sight of you, all flustered and blushy.

“so is he the one finally matched with some ideal fictional guy?” heejin hugged your torso with her lips all puckered, to show and prove that you were in love.

“i haven’t seen most of his face!” you butt back. “so i don’t know if he fits the ‘ideal’.”

“really y/n?” siyeon chuckled in good disbelief, shoving her phone out from her pockets. “troy bolton is everyone’s childhood crush, but your smile towards dimple guy isn’t a simple ‘i don’t know’. there’s something more to it~”

you nodded in agreement as your fingers pointed and shook repetitively. you were more in good disbelief than she was and heejin will for sure add on stronger words to your vulnerable, giddy, happy heart.

“last one at the finish line will get the shared bed!” you went downhill with a long cheer, but enough for the two to follow immediately.

the snow ground slowly marked with straight and curvy lines from the equipments in contact. your legs danced along the already indented path, creating a new design to write out the joy in your boarding. you twisted your body slightly to mimic a 180 degree pan, with intentions to show the beautifying canvas nature’s offered to give before the year ends.

although you weren’t that of a professional to glide down hill faster, the competition between the three of you was high. to compare the total of wins,

you never won any.

and that was out of thirty.

you thought it was time to have that plot twist of the year— to at least get a win so heejin and siyeon wouldn’t have to embarrass you everytime they bring it up.

the board beneath you sent vibration signals to your legs and you knew you had to slow down. yet the adrenaline in you was in rockets and refused to stop when needed. you suddenly heard a familiar voice right at the bottom of the slope. you guessed right, it was the dimple guy.

“yah mark you can do better than that!” he yelled, and another figure brushed passed you.

remember that phrase ‘to be smitten by somebody’? well that was accurate to you now that you didn’t realise you glided on an area with a split level.. you felt your legs in mid-air before crashing and rolling down.

“y/n! you’re sharing a bed with heeji- oh my gosh!” siyeon cupped her hands around her mouth but charged forward to get you.

heejin heard the echoes of ooh’s and hisses from the same group from earlier. she helped you up once she arrived the finishing line. “y/n that must’ve hurt!”

you pulled the strap and removed your foot from the bracings, kicking it aside to massage the sore ankles. “damn it i hope i didn’t twist them.”

“let’s get you inside to have them checked.”

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the lounge area had music booming the system as if it would shatter the delicate, shaking glass windows. you sat at a corner with arms crossed and your friends heard you muttering words of complaint. their eyes trailed your casted ankle and crutches placed on your side.

regret was in you, and you swore you could’ve worn jeans instead of a skirt.

some people were drinking the night away and others were singing their hearts out; whether it was for a good year or another unrequited love. all in all the room was loud and it made you glad because for a whole hour you could hear the throbbing pain beating against your flesh.

“way to end the year..” you gulped onto your drink, empty the glass clean and asked for seconds.

“well at least you’re not in the hospital.” siyeon tilted her head, earning a watch-your-mouth look from heejin.

you went back to reading the last few pages of your book and ignored the persistent invites from the rest of your friends and strangers. didn’t they see your rest leg onto the couch? no matter how much you wanted to join them on the dance floor, you couldn’t. your beloved book was your only companion until the clock strike twelve.

“i’ll see you at 2300!”

his voice rang in your head and you hoped to recognize him at least.

heejin and siyeon enjoyed themselves with other random guys they hoped they’d end up with. they swayed their bodies from the effect of the drinks. you secretly recorded their pink cheeks and slurry smiles, later airdropping to their phones. as payback for the unending tease, you set those meme faces as their wallpaper.

the weight onto the seat on your left dove deep as you giggled at your plan. a hand attempted to snake around your waist, but your radar was attentive enough to warn you. he could be taking advantage of your condition right now. you grabbed your crutches and went straight to the bar section, asked for a glass of water before continuing the imagine wonders of the story.

the host of the party stood on the stage calling out for volunteers to give a good performance. the audience were awaiting, yet none wanted to try to sing. jaehyun entered the lounge after a warm quick shower from the last basketball practice of the year. his friends mark and johnny headed to some empty seats and he soon followed them. he knew and read the atmosphere, the typical mood of anticipation.

he stood at a column where he was hidden and at a blind spot. “gosh this scene is too familiar.” he whispered under his breath.

mark’s ears perked up at his friend. “yeah it’s like one of those rom-com movies.”

“high school musical? nah, this is way better.” johnny held a tray of tarts and cupcakes.

“if no one is coming up here we will choose.” the host spoke into the mic.

jaehyun felt the relief of searching spotlights. his entire being avoiding the light’s rays. yet there was something he didn’t expect.

a drone flew towards him and blinked lights. the crowd cheered and pushed him to the center stage. he sighed at his one-second relief since it was replaced by heart-hammering attention.

the music died down completely and it didn’t make you notice since your eyes were so immersed into each word. not until a spotlight pointed at you, its brightness blinding your eyes temporarily. you looked up to see a drone, then two pairs of hands pulled you to the center where a guy stood waiting for you.

“wait- i have to finish my book.” you whined and looked at the people in front. seeing heejin and siyeon smirking told you that they were probably the people behind the devilish plan.

“you’ll have it back after you do a cover!” the host shook the book and signalled for the track in queue. “introduce yourselves then you’d get into the mood. you’re both still awkward.”

“hey, i-i’m jaehyun.”

“hi, i’m y/n..”

you held the mic stand placed in front and found the crutches uncomfortable.

jaehyun noticed your discomfort and excused the rest to give you a chair to sit on. “here.” he said, taking your hand to lead you up and removed his coat to drape it to cover your legs.

the first piano notes started to play, and all cheers had you wondering whether they planned to re-enact the scene. heejin gave a thumbs up as she recorded the moment.

the heavy amount of exhales you both did when the track wasn’t what you think it was.

[ him ]

you don’t know babe when you hold met kiss me slowly it’s the sweetest thing

[ you ]

and it don’t change if i had in my way you would know that you are

[ both ]

you’re the coffee that i need in the morning you’re the sunshine in the rain when it’s pouring won’t you give yourself to me give it all

i just wanna see i just wanna see how beautiful you are you know that i see it i know you’re a star

where you go i follow no matter how far if life is a movie then you’re the best part

it was great singing a duet with the handsome boy. his voice was baritone and you loved how his voice resonates with you, harmonising even when it wasn’t necessary. yet it was something that you were fond of.

jaehyun knew you were the one he helped at the top of the hill. he knew you were the pissed one whilst wearing the equipment and knew that you crashed down. he circled around you in enjoyment of the song.

[ both ]

oh whoa you’re the best part oh whoa oh.. best part

when he flashed that smile as he sung, your eyes widened at the revelation of the boy. you recognised the pearly whites and dimples. now that you saw the entirety of his face,

he was more ethereal.

although the cover ended quicker than you thought— even if the whole thing was less than four minutes long, celebrating the year-end wasn’t that gloomy since meeting jaehyun. the crowd decided to give you both a gift and opening the box, there was an instax camera and couple’s santa accessory. he wore the hat whilst you took the 2020 headband and began to exchange polaroid pictures.

sharing a selfie was needed to be put up on the board for the ‘best cover’ of the night.

his hands stayed up waiting for yours. “are you sure you don’t need help?”

“i’m fine.” you giggled at his gentleman gestures. “thanks for the jacket.. and back at the snowboarding hill.”

he guided you to the balcony where the rest of your friends were. “no problem.” at their chattering conversations and endless giggles, you knew they’ve instantly gotten close.

“it’s just like kindergarten.” you suddenly say, wrapping the huge scarf around you.

you felt a warm weight around your shoulders. “give it back to me the next time i see you.” jaehyun pat your head.

“sure.” you agreed on his statement.

the countdown began in twenty seconds and everyone held their horns or sparklers in the air. the rest of your friends decided to be close to you, given of your condition. phones were at selfie mode and recorded the celebration.

“ten! nine! eight! seven!

six! five! four!

three! two!

one!”

fireworks canvased the navy blue sky and the impact the yells did to your eardrums had nothing compared to the beating of your heart. jaehyun cheered as well, his dimples evident on his cheeks. this by which made you look into the solo portrait you both exchanged.

however as you dug it out from your pockets, it fell to the ground and the universe already had something new and planned for you this coming year.

you smiled at the digits written behind it and jaehyun saw the most giddiest expression he has ever seen in your eyes.

he leaned down to whisper into your ears. “i hope the next time i see you will be soon.”

#nct 127 #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #nct jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun au #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun #yuno

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awesomelephuoclocblog-blog · 5 years ago

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VidToon Review – EASIEST Toon Video Maker Ever

https://lephuocloc.com/vidtoon-review/

Vidtoon Review

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Vidtoon Review Feature VidToon User-Friendly Interface

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Vidtoon Review Feature 30 Eye-Popping Animations That Grabs Attention Immediately

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invitationenvelopesreviews-blog · 6 years ago

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Invitation Envelope in a Variety of Sizes

Invitation Envelopes: Make Noteworthy First Impressions

Never underestimate the power of a first impression. Creating a positive versus negative impression can mean the difference between success or failure. If you are planning an event, whether for your business or personal life, presentation is the key to conveying a positive feeling and getting invited guests excited for what's to come. With 4OVER4's fully customizable, high quality invitation envelopes, you'll be able to express a professional and sophisticated personalized touch from the start.

Think of your invitations as glamorous evening gowns, and the invitation envelopes as their elegant accessories. At 4OVER4.com we want to help you make your event, wedding or special celebration a hit from the very beginning. Our sophisticated line of white wove envelopes for invitations is just what your event needs.

Choose from a wide selection of sizes, providing you with an immense array of formats and unique finishes. Our white wove paper makes the perfect canvas for your one-of-a-kind designs. So, what's it going to be? Black ink on front or PMS ink on front? Maybe something more classy and sophisticated like Black and 1 PMS ink on front; or something more colorful with 2 PMS inks or full color? The choice is yours and the pleasure is ours!

Available sizes (in inches):

A2 (4.375 x 5.75)

#10 Peel & Seal Regular

#10 Simple Seal Regular

#9 Regular (3.875 x 8.875)

#8 ⅝ (3.625 x 8.625)

#7 ¾ (3.875 x 7.5)

#7 (3.75 x 6.75)

#6 ¾ (3.625 x 6.5)

#10 Regular (4.125 x 9.5)

A4 (4.25 x 6.25)

A6 (4.75 x 6.5)

A7 (5.25 x 7.25)

A8 (5.5 x 8.125)

A9 (5.75 x 8.75)

A10 (6 x 9.5)

5" Squares

5.5" Squares

6" Squares

6.5" Squares

As you can see, we like to give you a variety of sizes to choose from to meet your specific needs. Contact us if you need help, and we'll lend you a hand.

When to Use Invitation Envelopes

Invitation envelopes are the asset you need for your upcoming presentation; social or corporate event. Let's take a look at some of the common options where invitation envelopes are chosen to convey a polished message.

Wedding & Social: The big day is near. Your invitations are going to reflect and give a first glance into your special day. Coordinate your invitations and envelopes for a visually striking affect that leaves invited guests with a sweet feeling of anticipation. Birthday celebrations, anniversaries and any other social occasion deserves to be presented in a meaningful and memorable way.

Corporate: When inviting your team and clients to a special presentation or business party, surprise them with a gorgeous looking envelope and invitation, instead of sending an impersonal email.

Fundraisers: If you're running a fundraiser to gather resources in favor of the cause or community you represent, create a positive feeling from the start with personalized envelopes that convey the theme of your event.

The Famous Seven Seconds Rule

Business Insider published a recent study that proves that a first impression only has seven seconds to prove itself positive or negative. Think about how much time seven seconds really is. Almost nothing. Poof! There goes your chance. When thinking about the presentation and design of your brand or looks for your upcoming event, be sure to provide a stunning first impression, turning heads and catching everyone's attention quickly and effectively.

Another fact to keep in mind is how the overall appearance of your printed envelope conditions your prospects and pushes them towards a judgment about your event, fundraiser or social gathering. The Paper Worker blog recently uploaded a very interesting infographic showing how our subconscious is influenced by packaging and presentation. "Your packaging represents your brand's promise to deliver a quality experience." This statement is equally important for invitations, envelopes and other packaging.

"Your packaging represents your brand's promise to deliver a quality experience"

Also, never forget the fact that if the materials, printers and professionals you choose to create your invitation envelopes aren't high-quality and reliable, your event may give off the wrong impression. Your envelopes are an EXACT reflection of what you have to offer, so be sure to set the tone of your event in order to achieve a high response rate.

Almost 200 Years by Our Side

Envelopes have been around for centuries and have changed numerous times throughout the years. They are as pivotal a part of history as the letters inside! Have you ever wondered where these paper enclosures came from? These facts will amaze you!

Did You Know, according to Smithsonian, "It was Louis XIV of France, the master of the dramatic flourish, who popularized the use of a cover to ensure the privacy of letters"? Louis had someone cut out forms in order to make envelopes for his communications to his court.

Did You Know, according to National Postal Museum, Warren De La Rue and Edwin Hill were granted a British patent for the first envelope-making machine in 1845? Prior to 1845, handmade envelopes were all that were available for use.

Go Big or Go Home (and Save Some Cash)

Don't forget to always check out our instant price calculator on the top right in order to discover some amazing discounts. Our minimum starting order for Invitation Envelopes is 250 units. Let's use the standard A2 (4.375" x 5.75") model with just black ink on our premium white wove paper as an example. Its starting price tag is $155.15. BUT, check this out. If you order 500 units, that is double your initial quantity, you'll be paying JUST $159.43! $4 more for double the product? Yup, this savings is real only with 4OVER4.

You may find the print products listed below interesting as well:

Donation Envelopes Offering Envelopes Event Tickets Size #9 Remittance (7.5" x 8.875") or

#6 3/4 Remittance (7.125" x 6.5") #9 Remittance (7.5" x 8.875") or

#6 3/4 Remittance (7.125" x 6.5") 2"x5.5" Material White Wove White Wove 14pt Gloss Cover

15pt Cover, Gloss 1 Side (30% PCW)

16pt Gloss Cover

14pt Uncoated Cover (30% PCW)

14pt Cream Uncoated Cover (30% PCW)

18pt Uncoated Cover (100% PCW)

18pt Cream Uncoated Cover

13pt Uncoated Cover (100% PCW)

14pt White Linen

18pt Premium White Linen

15pt Metallic Pearl Ice

15pt Metallic Pearl Champagne

15pt Metallic Pearl Silver

15pt Metallic Pearl Gold

15pt Synthetic Plastic Turnarounds Time 2 to 7 business days 2 to 7 business days 1 to 5 business days Min and Max Quantity 250 to 10,000 250 to 10,000 50 to 5,000

FAQ

1. What size envelope should I choose?

It really depends on each individual situation. We offer more than 20 standard sizes to choose from, and we can help you find the right one.

2. Can I print on the back of the envelope?

Yes, you can print your logo, address, or any other message on the back of the envelope.

3. When will I get my order?

Your order will be shipped as soon as you need it! Choose between 1 to 7 business day print turnaround times.

4. Can I get a proof?

We're so confident that you'll like the end result, that we're happy to provide two proof options to our prospective customers. Choose between free online proof or next day hard copy proof.

5. What is the minimum envelope order I can place?

Currently, you can place a minimum envelope order of only 250 prints. Need more envelopes? Relax! You can order as many as 50,000 envelopes.

6. What kind of colors can I use on my envelope?

You can choose to print in black ink or PMS color. Take a look at all our options:

Black ink on front

1 PMS ink on front

Black ink and 1 PMS ink color on front

2 PMS ink colors on front

Full color printing on front

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businesshosting · 4 years ago

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easyhairstylesbest · 4 years ago

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How the Costumes and Makeup of 'Promising Young Woman' Shape Perception

Mild spoilers for Promising Young Woman below.

If the pen is mightier than the sword, then in Promising Young Woman, the ink’s been replaced by lipstick. As Cassie (Carey Mulligan) channels her anger, grief, and guilt over the death of her best friend into a one-woman mission to punish men (and women) complicit in rape culture, the gulf between appearance and motivation is vast. In contrast to a spy who dresses to blend in, Cassie’s undercover attire is a flashing beacon that lures in her prey, and her ability to shapeshift through the local nightlife scene is made possible by the clothes, makeup, and hairstyles she adopts to appeal to her targets. Each undone button and crinkle is part of the overall ruse, and Cassie’s revolving closet is as purposeful as her imperfectly applied eyeliner.

Courtesy

Costume and makeup are essential to every production, but writer-director Emerald Fennell’s debut feature puts a premium on surface-level perceptions that a so-called “hot mess” projects. From the first pulpy poster image—which featured an illustrated Mulligan lying in an oversized mouth, lip color dripping like blood—the emphasis is placed on the trappings of femininity. Cassie is counting on superficial snap judgments as she walks a very dangerous path with little protection beyond a strapless bodycon dress and high heels.

ELLE.com spoke to costume designer Nancy Steiner (The Virgin Suicides, Twin Peaks: The Return) and makeup department head Angie Wells (Sylvie’s Love, Mudbound) about creating distinctive looks to support Fennell’s vision. “The makeup itself [and] these disguises were their own character,” Wells says. “[Cassie’s] using it in a way that’s very controlled.”

Business Casual

Brian Valenzuela/Courtesy

“She is dressed as a business chick,” Steiner explains of the movie’s opening scene, which sees Cassie slumped in a red booth, feigning intoxication to attract the attention of businessmen gathered for post-work drinks. Fennell specified each location for Cassie’s hunt in the script, which provided Steiner with a wealth of costume inspiration. It’s notable that we only see Cassie wear each “disguise” once: Steiner estimates Mulligan had approximately 35 changes in total.

On the makeup side, smudges and a clammy complexion all point to Cassie’s “inebriated” state. “I love doing imperfect things like that,” says Wells. Using techniques we try to avoid IRL, the makeup artist made Mulligan apply the mascara herself. “While it was wet, I said, ‘please close your eyes really tightly,’ which makes a mess.” Wells used a damp brush to smear the mascara around her eyes. To get the flushed, blotchy skin effect, she changed her brush technique: “I stippled the blush on in a spotty way, so it’s not this smooth-skin look.”

Daytime Cassie

Brian Valenzuela/Courtesy

When not hunting her prey, Cassie masks her pain in saccharine pastels. Steiner’s own resume is filled with girlish references that suggest a happy facade while concealing the film’s major themes; in an interview with Little White Lies, Fennell referenced Steiner’s “beguiling” work in The Virgin Suicides and the daytime aesthetic she envisioned for her own heroine: “Cassie’s clothes are very tactile: soft; pink; inviting.” For Steiner, “It was a lot about the color palette of that pastel. A little bit of contemporary shopping, costume house, a little thrift, and then put it together.” Even though the story is contemporary, Steiner mixed and matched influences from the 1960s onward for Cassie’s daytime wardrobe. Her collection of cheery gingham, floral, and delicate prints are a disguise. “It’s her, ‘I’m happy, don’t look at me’ [look],” Steiner says. “It’s a barrier as well.”

And her makeup is much more subtle. “I wanted there to be a real difference between Cassie in her regular, everyday life and who she became when she would go out and do these disguises,” Wells says. With a “very natural, very clean” face, the artist didn’t want viewers to notice the makeup. This blank canvas offered plenty of room for experimentation with the bold nighttime looks.

“Homemade Kardashian”

Brian Valenzuela/Courtesy

“I call it the ‘Douchey Eurotrash’ look, and that is the strapless dress and high heels where she transforms into somebody really different,” Steiner says of this particular nightclub attire. The “Homemade Kardashian” nickname came about as Wells read the script: she immediately thought of the famous family’s signature contouring. “I didn’t want it to look like a professional makeup artist had done it,” she says. “I wanted it to look like she had done it herself, so I didn’t blend the contour perfectly.”

The Smeared Lipstick

Cassie’s application of her cosmetic war paint follows a relatable endeavor: turning to the internet for techniques. Watching a “blowjob lips” tutorial—Fennell cameos as the beauty vlogger—Cassie nails the bold look before dramatically smearing the dark shade across her face. This was a “collaboration between props and makeup,” Wells explains, recalling that Mulligan’s purposeful makeup misapplication took two or three takes. The film was shot in just 23 days, and time constraints meant there was a limited window for resetting the scene.

In the following scene, Fennell depicts the encounter with “nice guy” Neil (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) at his apartment rather than the trendy bar where he met Cassie. This particular costume is not in focus—Steiner points out that “you don’t really see much of what she’s wearing there”—and the makeup choice is darker than the opening scene, a reflection of Cassie’s state of mind. “She’s starting to spiral down a little bit: she’s getting sadder, she’s getting heavier, it’s getting deeper,” Wells says. “The look was getting a little bit dark.” The deeper red isn’t the only cosmetic choice for this underlying despair. “I even turned her eyeliner down to kind of pull her eyes down,” Wells says.

The Candy-Colored Mani

Regardless of time of day or activity, Cassie is always wearing the same eye-catching manicure. This was a direct request from the director. “Emerald was very specific with the nail look she wanted,” recalls Wells. “And she wanted that to carry throughout.” Changing nail art can be a logistical nightmare, Wells says, so she was grateful the look remained the same throughout the film. “We were able to do them with gels, and they could stay on for a couple of weeks, and then Carey would go and get them redone.”

This striking nail polish choice is the unifying factor between the makeup and costume color palettes, complementing both Cassie’s daytime barista attire and all her disheveled drunk personas. Early in the process, Wells sent Fennell inspiration images, then connected with Steiner, looking at the color and shapes of each costume to coordinate the individual makeup looks. Wells also brought hair department head Daniel Curet onto the film. “It was a group effort to create [Cassie’s entire] look,” Wells says.

Drugstore Dance

Brian Valenzuela/Courtesy

Frequently switching sartorial personas means Cassie’s authentic style is hard to pin down, but Steiner explains one costume captures her essence more than any other: the “cute vintage pieces” which feature in the Paris Hilton “Stars Are Blind” sing-along. As Cassie dances down the aisles with Ryan (Bo Burnham), Promising Young Woman briefly turns into a rom-com. “That little number in the pharmacy is more her,” Steiner explains. “It’s not pastel, it’s a brighter color. I really love the little cardigan. It’s not saying anything necessarily, but it’s different from everything else.”

The thrifted knitwear also ties to Steiner’s earlier work designing for music videos during the glory days of MTV, including Nirvana’s “Come as You Are,” which features Kurt Cobain in an iconic green cardigan. But Steiner is quick to note she didn’t invent that look: “Everybody was wearing thrift store cardigans,” and Cobain “had a lot of cardigans.” While Cassie’s moment of levity in the drugstore does have a pop video sensibility, Steiner says, “I can’t say anything specifically informed me from video days” when conceiving this scene. “I think my aesthetic from my life has informed my choices.”

A Nurse’s Disguise

Brian Valenzuela/Courtesy

Cassie’s most extreme costume is, without a doubt, the stylized nursing attire that ties together her medical student past and present vengeance vocation. “We knew we wanted a hot, sexy nurse costume and I did a little research online,” says Steiner. Production needed multiple versions of the garment, so Steiner custom-built it to her exacting specifications, from the sleeve and skirt lengths to the zippered front

For Wells, rather than match the crimson hard-to-walk-in stilettos (Mulligan’s socked feet were protected with moleskin fabric for navigating the long driveway), she used the pastel wig and candy nails as inspiration. “Red is always the color if you think of femme fatale,” she says of Cassie’s edgy, sexy lipstick. “I wanted pink because red is so expected.” The makeup artist opted for an intense pink using MAC’s “Royally Flushed” pencil shade that has since been discontinued, but MAC told her a near-substitute is the lip pencil Beet. “[I] totally filled her lips in with the pencil, and then we put a little bit of lipstick [MAC’s All Fired Up] on top of it to solidify the look.”

“Once I looked at the outfit, and I realized what she was going to be doing in that scene, I thought of a blow-up doll,” Wells recalls. Dialing into the big eyes and full mouth concept, Wells exaggerated the size of Mulligan’s eyes using several techniques. “I purposely went below Carey’s natural eye-line to make her eyes look huge, then I filled in on the waterline with a flesh-colored pencil, which makes the whites of your eye appear larger,” she says. “We put lashes beneath the waterline so everything was designed with this big eye, strong lip look—because eyes and lips are the places where people look.” Cassie is nearly unrecognizable. Wells captured the transformation via makeup on a timelapse video: “As it starts out, she has such a sweet face. At the end of the video, it’s like, ‘Wow! It’s a whole different person.’”

Emma Fraser Emma Fraser is a freelance culture writer with a focus on TV, movies, and costume design.

This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io

How the Costumes and Makeup of 'Promising Young Woman' Shape Perception

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taronfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Graduate’s Escape

Chapters 1-10 are here

Chapter 11

The next week had flown by surprisingly quickly. Taron had started off in South Korea and the 9 hour time difference had turned out to be a bonus. As you woke up each morning Taron had just finished his interviews for the day and was making his way back to the hotel for a bit of down time. You facetimed him from the comfort of your bed and listened to him as he enthusiastically recalled the amusing anecdotes from the day. They usually involved him trying his best to embarrass Colin Firth or make him laugh during an interview. He seemed like his usual happy self, albeit a coffee fuelled jetlagged version.

As the end of the second week appeared things had changed. Taron had evening events and the main film premier which wiped out your time for contact. He’d text you to let you know what he was doing, but he’d never asked if you were ok, never said he missed you, never even asked what you were up to. Not that you had any plans. It was your day off and exactly 2 weeks since you’d last seen him. The roses on your breakfast bar were looking as alive as your love life currently felt. You were moping and you knew it. The largest painting in your art room had remained untouched for days now. You considered shutting yourself away and putting in some hours to the canvas, but you knew you weren’t in the right mind-set. If anything you’d rather be at the bar.

Y/N: You doing anything tonight? X

Emily: Just my usual Saturday night, mentally dating the cute pizza delivery guy and watching Netflix. X

Y/N: Fancy some company? X

Emily: Is someone missing lover boy? X

Y/N: Like mad, but I don’t think it’s mutual. X

Emily: Shit - bring wine! X

If there was one person on the planet who was guaranteed to have the answer to all your problems it was Emily. She has this amazing way of knowing whether you need worldly advice, a shoulder to cry on, or a hilarious distraction instead. She lives in a shared house with a few of her old Uni friends. You were convinced that she and James were a couple when you first met but they’ve both sworn nothing has ever happened between them. It will one day though, once their heads have been bashed together.

“Here she is!” Emily greeted you with a warm hug and invited you through to the living room. “Now tell me what’s going on? You were fine last week… or this just because you’ve finally come down from cloud nine after your last date?” She poured you a large glass of wine and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa.

“I don’t really know. Nothing’s actually happened, but it all just feels… different?” You questioned your own words.

“Different?” Emily repeated as she tried to get you to explain.

“I guess… I feel more like his mate? Since he’s been away his texts have been brief and to the point. There’s no jokes or flirting anymore.”

“Not even any filthy photos?”

“None. It’s weird, and I don’t like it.”

He’s probably just busy, or jetlagged?” Emily went straight to the most logical explanation. “He wouldn’t be all romantic, buy you roses and drag out saying goodbye for ages if he just wanted to be friends!”

“It wasn’t really a long goodbye, actually.”

“But I thought that was why you were late to work? You couldn’t bear to let each other go.” She outstretched her arms dramatically as she mock acted every rom-com going.

“Ha, no. I was late long before we’d got to that point… it was a very long shower.” You gave her a wink and said no more, watching on as she shook her head in jealousy.

“So do you actually miss him, or just the sex?”

“Good question. I don’t know… I should say him, shouldn’t I?” You felt bad for not being confident in your answer. You knew already that you missed the sex, but was that because it was with Taron or not?

“You don’t have to… I think I know what might help you decide though. Fancy a little trip out?”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see…” Emily gave nothing away as she ushered you out the door and down the street, looking something up on her phone as she walked. “We’re in luck!” she declared as she locked her phone and put it back in her bag. You took a left turn onto the main road and headed towards the busier part of town. The neon signs of clubs and take away shops lit the street, but nestled between them was a smaller old fashioned cinema entrance. Emily showed the booking receipt on her phone to the man at the entrance and grabbed two small bags of popcorn.

“What are we watching?” You asked her, wondering why this was her brilliant idea. “I thought this place only showed the old classics?”

“It does normally, unless there’s a big new release out…” she not-so-subtly hinted.

“No, you haven’t!”

“It’s too late now, I’m not letting you leave.” The lights dimmed and the audience hushed, allowing you to hear the flicker of the film reel behind you. The Kingsman: The Golden Circle appeared on screen, shortly followed by Taron’s clean shaven, glasses wearing face. As much as your heart knew it was him, recognising his gorgeous eyes and tempting looking soft lips, your head couldn’t put two and two together with the accent and mannerisms. It was weird to watch. But it was also a true testament to his talent as an actor, which you knew held no bounds. You felt proud of him, inspired by him, but most importantly you knew you missed him.

***

“So did that help?” Emily asked as you left the cinema.

“I really miss him.” You admitted. “I just want to know why he’s being so different now we’re not together.”

“What was he like when you left him? When you actually said goodbye?”

“The last thing he said was ‘don’t give your number out to any more guys at work’.”

“Wait! So he unofficially made things official then? ... He doesn’t want you to date anyone else!” The excitement in Emily’s voice made everything become very clear.

“Shit.” You stopped dead in your tracks.

“Y/N, what did you say back him?”

“Oh I’ve fucked this up.” You sighed as it hit you hard. “I said ‘no promises’, but I was kidding. You know what I’m like! No wonder he’s been off with me… He’s gone and confessed his feelings, asked me to be loyal to him whilst he’s away and I might as well have just shrugged in his face and said ‘not going to happen’. Fuck.” You dropped your head into your hands as you started to cry.

“No, no no no.” Emily rubbed your arm supportively. “This is still saveable, you just need to talk to him about it and explain.”

“It’s going to be too late for that. He’ll be over me by the time he comes back.” Your tears fell quickly down your cheeks as you replayed your last moments with him in your mind. Watching back all your mistakes hurt and you could now see exactly what you should have said and done. Hindsight’s an unhelpful friend.

“Text him!” Emily ordered.

“I can’t tell him how I feel by text. It’s not the same, I need to see him!”

“I don’t think you have much choice here Y/N, he’s half way around the world!”

“I’ll get a flight then!” You argued back, determined that you needed to be face to face with Taron before you could tell him how you felt.

“You’re mad! That’ll cost a fortune, and what about work? They’ll sack you if you just disappear for a week!”

“Cover for me? Tell them I’m ill, I’ve had my appendix out or something. Please, Emily. I need to go and see him.” You begged her.

“Y/N, this is insane. Come back to mine and we can talk this through, form a better plan.” She tried to calm you down.

“I don’t need a better plan, I just need you to cover for me. Please Emily, I’m actually begging you.” You placed your hands on her shoulders as you asked her again, looking straight into her eyes so she couldn’t avoid answering you.

“Ok, fine, I’ll cover for you. But only because I know how stubborn you are. I still think you could sort it all out over the phone, but if you want to fly to China or wherever then I can’t stop you!”

“Thank you!” You pulled her in to a tight hug. “I need to go and pack, I’ll be on the first flight out tomorrow and I’ll let you know exactly what happens. Promise!”

“Good luck!” She called as you darted across the road and disappeared down the steps of the nearest tube station.

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