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poptod · 3 years

Note

Hi you beautiful person! If you’re still taking requests then I would like to request for Ahkmenrah! Sorry if this is too long but how about y/n is a cat burglar and breaks into the museum to steal sum shit (they notice the lights on beforehand but thought that it was just the night guard). But then they notice that there’s, like, A LOT of “people” still present at the museum. They already took a few things so they go to hide in the Egypt exhibit till the coast is clear but then when they notice that the sarcophagus is wide open and the mummy isn’t there they get rly freaked out and about to leave the exhibit but run into Ahk and he’s rly confused and notices that they’re a thief and even tho he was raised to be cruel to thieves he felt rly drawn and hypnotized by y/n (it was love at first sight for him). He simps so hard that he lets them go only if they leave the stuff they tried to steal but they refuse to leave empty handed so Ahk simps again and gives them one of his pieces of jewelry to have. They’re confused but go with it then dip through the window and Ahk watches them escape into the night from the window with a dreamy look on his face. And Larry’s behind him like “wtf just happened?” Sorry again if that was too long! Please take as much time as you need if you decide to do this <3

notes: anon. ANON. i love you and i love this idea, idk why i never thought of this but i fucking adore it thank you WC: 1.6k

Grappling hooks––the fevered dream of a madman that worked only partway in theory, and not at all in practice. Still, you liked the look of them, and kept one seated on your belt while you used a more practical means of breaking and entering.

Very rarely did you ever break into buildings who still had their lights on. For this you would have to make an exception; the museum, which you had scouted out every day for two weeks, always had its' lights on. That would not deter you. American and British museums were essentially always corrupt in some way, unwilling to return the stolen artifacts of foreign countries. You kept that at the forefront of your mind, a little smidgen of motivation, as you jammed the window lock open.

The wind brushing against your dark coat vanished as you entered, sudden air conditioning bringing the temperature to a more pleasant 70 degrees. Hanging off the side of a building with no leverage but a small, outer windowsill had left your fingers numb, joints aching with built up pressure. You shook them out, clicking your pocket knife shut and stuffing it in one of your pockets.

For a minute you remained in the shadowed hallway, listening closely to the sound of footsteps, and watching carefully the shadows casted on the wall to your right. Your brow furrowed––that couldn't be right. The only person who was supposed to be in the museum was the night guard, which last you checked there was only one of them, and maybe the director. You could hear the footsteps of a whole crowd, the murmuring hum of distant conversation, and the vibrating beats of music coming through stereo speakers.

Taking a tentative step forward, you kept your hand poised over your knife just in case. As many times as you've done this, you can't recall any time that you've robbed a place while the owners were still inside.

You came to find out about two minutes later that while the owners are in fact inside, it wasn't them making the noise. Peering out behind the wall, you could see far off the balcony, into the entrance of the museum where a congregation had gathered. It's not... normal, though. None of them are wearing normal clothes. Actually, it looked more like they stole all the exhibits clothes, which would partly explain why all the exhibits were empty.

"This is not normal," you mumbled beneath your breath to yourself, mimicking Harry Potter's voice. Third movie.

You quickly retraced your steps, returning to the window you crawled into. Once more you went through the hallway, double checking everything, and picking up what valuables you could find in the vacant rooms. The Greek section payed off, as did the Chinese, but before you could move to the next era the night guard came walking down the hallway with a group of people in tow. He doesn't seem all that bothered by the fact that none of the exhibits are there, and that all of his friends are wearing the clothes of the exhibits.

And then you saw it.

A monster of entirely bone, whose teeth bared constantly in sharp, jagged lines. The backbones creaked and cracked against each other when its' neck moved, pulling its' heavy skull to watch the people with empty eye sockets.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Where was the exit? You'd gone down two flights of stairs, up one, and down one, but you couldn't remember the order. There had to be an exit on this floor. When the group passed by you, you darted in the opposite direction, paying no attention to the artifacts as the walls blurred around you.

Your breath began to catch up with you soon, heaving your chest up and down as your legs burned. Before your body could give out on you, you slid into the next hallway, ducking behind one of the massive pillars and finally collapsing. Three minutes passed before you could breathe normally. Only then, with most of your wits back about you, did you notice the hieroglyphs your nails dug desperately into on the pillar.

More footsteps outside the long, Egyptian hallway sent you padding deeper in, till you found yourself bumping against the open glass case around a golden casket. The face, which you would've expected to be on the head, was instead cast aside as the top was open. Inside––nothing. Scraps of linen and spells written in an incomprehensible language.

"What the fuuuuck," you whispered to yourself. "What the fuuuuck..."

What the hell is going on h-

Something bumped against your back, sending you stumbling forward before you could just barely stabilize yourself. You whipped around, eyes wide as you came face to face with a man bearing an outrageously golden crown, and donned entirely in Egyptian cloth.

Entirely dumbstruck, your mouth hung open, and you said nothing as the man stared at you in the same bewilderment.

"Why do you have that?" He suddenly asked, eyes falling to the gold and lapis necklace dangling out of your bag.

You stuffed it back inside and said, "mother's."

"Yes," he chuckled, "my mother's. I was buried with that and I'd rather appreciate it if you gave it back."

The narrowing of your eyes gave away what you tried your best to keep hidden––the numerous treasures concealed in your duffel bag.

"You're robbing us, aren't you?"

You said nothing.

"Why are you stealing our belongings?"

"Why are you acting like they belong to you?" You finally replied. "They belonged to people long dead. Just because you're wearing the robes doesn't make you the Pharaoh, and – and why the fuck are you dressed in Egyptian clothes?"

"Well I was, again, buried in this. It's this or the linen and the linen reveals a little more than people would probably like. My name is Ahkmenrah," he bowed slightly, taking your gloved hand and kissing the back of it, "the Pharaoh from the sarcophagus."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"Doesn't matter what you believe. What matters is that you return what you've stolen," he said, straightening himself out and outstretching his hand. As if you'd return what you've taken.

He waited for a good minute, and when you didn't relent, his expression grew weary.

"Do you want me to get the night guard?"

"No," you said quickly, eyes darting up in panic.

"I will let you go, free of punishment, if you return what you've taken and leave. Come back when you're not looking to steal."

"I am not leaving here empty-handed," you hissed, stepping closer to get up in his face. To your surprise (though you didn't dare show your surprise on your face) a blush began to fill his cheeks.

"I... uh.. y - oh Gods," he grumbled, shaky eyes darting all across your face but never meeting your gaze. "Fine. Fine, you – take this. If you return the other things you can take this."

He stayed rooted to the spot, but bent to pull at his skirt. At first you almost stopped him, already convinced he was about to strip down, but when he ripped at the silk your mouth hung open in silence.

"Ever learn about the history of textiles?" He asked you as he handed you the long strip of golden fabric.

You shook your head no. The cloth barely weighed anything, softer than anything you'd touched, and nearly thin enough to see through it.

"Much Egyptian and Arabic fabric is revered for the talents your people have lost to time. It's a special recipe you cannot replicate with any modern tool. This'll bring you a fortune if you find the right person," he said, cocking his head to the side as he watched you carefully. "It's gold sewn into silk."

Only a moment of thought passed before you dropped your bag, kneeling in front of the Pharaoh and pulling at the zipper. His sandals slid away from you as he gave you space, and soon you were pulling out different necklaces and combs, setting them on the floor in front of him in silence.

"I don't know where the exit is," you mumbled as you carefully pocketed the silk, moving back to your feet.

"How did you get in?"

"Through the window."

"... ah. I'll show you to one of them, then."

He snuck you around the museum, showed you how to avoid the crowds, and at each turn you memorized the path. If you ever wanted to come back for anything else, you would need to know such tactics. Soon enough he was showing you to a window a story off the ground, and though he was hesitant to allow you to leave out it, you informed him you quite adept at climbing walls.

Clambering out the window, you paused with your foot notched into a dip in the outer wall.

"Why are you helping me like this? You didn't have to do that," you asked, and though it wasn't a question you had been thinking of, there was a very sudden urge within you to have it answered. "Aren't you a Pharaoh? They hate thieves, right?"

"I.. um, well, there's... I suppose – you caught me in a good mood," he very obviously lied. You raised a single brow questioningly, but made no further attempt to pull the truth out of him.

Instead, you ducked out the window, falling quickly into the snow and rushing off into the dark of night. A moment later he heard the revving of a car, and then the squealing of tires sliding against the pavement roads. Ahk sighed softly, the tension in his chest giving way as he rested his elbow on the window's sill, his palm pushing against his blushing cheek.

"What the fuck was that about?" Larry asked from behind him. His dreamy expression immediately gave way to embarrassment.

"Nothing," he quickly insisted. "Just... being a little softhearted."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek

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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

Text

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 2

Chapter Summary: Cat’s out of the bag now

Rating: 18+ for later chapters

Warning: None for this chapter... maybe some swear words, idk

Prologue Chapter 1

Ever had a bad day? Like, a really, really bad day? Just... one thing goes wrong, and then everything else gets progressively worse from there? Then, just when you think you've finally reached rock bottom for the day and gotten a handle on it, it somehow manages to get even worse?

Well, that was the current situation Faye found herself in. Absolutely everything had gone wrong that morning and now she found herself in a bit of a pickle as she rushed about the, thankfully empty, makeup trailer.

"Just, sit here and watch your tablet, ok?" Faye instructed, sitting the toddler down on a stool tucked back in a hidden corner, praying this would work. If it didn't, she had no clue what she was going to do.

She rushed back to the chair just as Henry squeezed his massive frame through the tiny door, flashing her a blinding smile as Kal pushed his way in past his legs to settle in his favorite, sunny spot by the door. "There's my favorite artist!"

"Oh, you're such a liar." Faye laughed, leaning into his welcoming hug and giving him a quick squeeze around his midsection, breathing him in when her head pressed into his chest. Smelling that good should be against the law.

"I would never lie to you." Henry assured, playfully bumping her with his shoulder as he seated himself in his usual chair.

It seemed everything was getting better, things were finally turning around and going well, she was actually going to pull this off! She had already applied the prosthetics, so the hard part was already done with. With a sigh of relief, Faye turned back around to get the foundation ready to blend over the fake scars when she heard it.

"Oh, hello there." Her stomach dropped.

"Hi, I'm Briar!" The little girl greeted enthusiastically, beaming up at the large man sitting in the makeup chair.

"What are you doing here?" Henry asked gently.

"Tablet not working." Briar whimpered, holding the device up despondently, her lower lip sliding out in a pout as tears began collecting in her eyes. Always the drama queen.

"Then let's take a look at it, shall we?" Henry suggested, absently lifting the girl and sitting her on his knee to examine the tablet in her chubby little hands. Faye could swear her heart was going to beat right out of her chest as she watched him tapping away at the screen, the sounds of cocomelon soon spilling from the speakers again, much to the child's delight.

"Yay! Cocomelon, cocomelon!" The little girl cheered, fixing her eyes on the screen.

"Now, sweetheart, where's your mother?" Henry asked, his brows drawn together as he looked at the little girl already mesmerized by the show in front of her.

"That's Mama." Briar quickly explained, pointing directly at Faye before diverting her attention back to her tablet. Henry's brows rose almost comically high as he looked up at Faye, waiting for confirmation of what he was just told. Faye had a daughter? He'd known her for months, how was this just now coming up?

"I... I'm so sorry." Faye quickly apologized, panic beginning to rise in her throat. This was bad, so very bad. Not only did she look like the world's most unprofessional makeup artist, but she was probably in the running for worst mother as well. Who just leaves their kid in the corner while they work? "The babysitter called and canceled this morning and I couldn't find a replacement before work. I thought if she had her tablet she would be quiet and out of everyone's way for the day, but then it stopped working and-"

"Faye. Faye!" Henry interrupted, pausing to make sure she was paying attention. "I need you to calm down. Everything is ok. Things come up, it's not a big deal." He assured, his voice taking on a soothing tone. "Sweetheart, do you like dogs?" Henry asked, turning his attention back to the little girl as she nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you see that dog over there?" He asked, nodding towards a snoozing Kal. "He's mine, and he just loves pets."

"I pet him?" Briar gasped excitedly, passing her tablet off to Henry and squirming out of his lap to scurry over to the sleeping bear, patting him on the top of his head with a clumsy little hand.

"That should keep them both busy enough for us to finish up here." Henry pointed out, settling back into the chair as though nothing had happened. Faye glanced between her daughter, cooing over the bear of a dog by the door and back to Henry a few times, her mind trying to catch up and process what just happened. She shook her head once to clear her thoughts and shakily returned to work, glancing over to the toddler every so often out of habit.

"So were you going to tell me you had a daughter?" Henry finally asked, raising a brow at the woman painting his face.

"I-... It never came up." Faye mumbled, looking back to her daughter as she curled up into the dog's side, babbling away to him about the bedtime story she'd been read last night.

"But why would you hide that?"

"I don't know." Faye lied, focusing her efforts closer to his mouth to end the conversation. Of course she had a reason. A rather simple one at that.

Guys like him aren't interested in single mothers.

Sure, it was a bit silly looking back on it. After all, what chance did she have with Henry? A slim one, if any. That still didn't stop her from hoping he may see something in her. Of course if he did show any interest, she would have eventually told him. Having a child isn't exactly something you can hide, after all. However, she had been hoping to wait until he was more invested in her than just being "his favorite artist".

Too little, too late.

"How old is she?" Henry asked once the brushes moved away from his mouth.

"She'll be three next week." Faye informed quietly, keeping her gaze averted.

"Next week? Do you plan on celebrating?"

"Not really. All my family is back home in the states. I was just planning on making her a cake or something, but I'm kind of a crap baker, so I'm on the fence about even doing that."

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but what about her father? Is he going to celebrate with you?"

"No." Faye answered simply, biting her lip and trying not to dwell on the past any more than she had to.

"So exactly how bad are you at baking?" Henry changed the subject, closing his eye as she worked around it.

"Briar, do you like mommy's cakes?"

"No!" Briar quickly answered, Kal's head popping up at the sudden outburst.

"Why not, sweetie?" Faye pressed.

"They're yucky! Bleck!"

"Does that answer your question?" Faye retorted, raising a brow at the man in front of her.

"Would you like help?"

"What?"

"Making a cake. I could help you." Henry offered, locking his eyes on hers.

"You bake?" Faye blurted out, wincing at her sudden outburst as Henry laughed.

"In fact I do. I have a few days off from filming next weekend. If you'd like, I could come over and help you make her a birthday cake."

Was this real life? This couldn't be real life. In real life, handsome men don't just swoop in and offer to make a cake for your daughter. This was some elaborate dream. Or a very drawn out strip-o-gram.

"I mean... that would be great, but-"

"Perfect, what day works best for you, Friday or Saturday?"

"Uhh... Saturay, I work on Friday."

"Alright, I'll give you my number so you can text me your address. Ten in the morning alright?"

"Yeah, umm... she naps around eleven, so ten is fine."

"So ten on Friday." Henry confirmed as he stood, pulling her in for another hug.

What. Just. Happened?

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #multi chapter #guys like you #guys like you fic #chapter 2

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

strawberries & cigarettes by troye whatshisface but it's winteriron (idk if this is a prompt or just a statement you can take it as either)

Bucky doesn’t like the fact that he’s going to a stupid fucking private school. He doesn’t like that this is his mother’s sacrifice, that she stays up late with the bills and works another job so that he can go there and make a living.

He doesn’t even know what he wants to do in life, that’s the thing. Mom thinks that he’s going to be a really good businessman and she doesn’t know that he smokes outside his window and sometimes just doesn’t retain any sort of information at school because he has to be good.

“I sacrifice so much for you,” she tells him one night. “You need to make a good living for yourself. Promise me.”

And he does. Hell if he knows how he’s going to keep it, but that’s the promise.

The one kid that he absolutely hates at school is Tony Stark. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a whole silverware drawer at the ready in case he doesn’t like the spoon.

Tony’s kind of wealth is the kind that is so astronomically high that at some point you have to wonder what it means to him. Because it doesn’t seem to mean anything.

He shows up in the shittiest sneakers he’s ever seen, held together with tape and drawn on by someone else. His hair is never styled, his uniform is never washed, and yet he just exudes that kind of confidence that comes with knowing that your life is better than anyone else’s, kind of.

He’s also an ass in class. Correcting teachers, derailing the topic, and acting like it all is beneath him.

They say he’s a genius, going to take over his father’s company. He has his future set in stone, and so there’s nothing else for him to learn. Bucky’s not really sure if he’s a genius or not, because he’s pretty sure a genius could figure out when to leave shit alone.

Everyone at St. Anthony’s knows that Bucky is an individual who does well on his own. At most, you say hello and move on. He doesn’t talk to anyone, he makes sure he doesn’t look like he talks to anyone, and he’s said multiple times that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

Tony Stark, however, talks. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, he talks.

Bucky gets nicknames. Because of his...frigid demeanor, this means that Tony calls him shit like “Ice Pop,” “Icicle,” “Mr. Freeze,” and any other nickname that’s applicable to cold.

“Hey Snowball,” Tony says in class. “You finished with your presentation for English class? Mine still sucks, although I’m sure it’ll be better than Hammer’s.”

“That’s not saying a lot,” Bucky mutters. “At all. Now shut up. It’s class.”

“We all know it’s going to be boring,” Tony says. “Sitwell has the personality of a tumbleweed, and you’re so much more interesting to talk to.”

Bucky doesn’t respond to that.

“Ah, so we’re at the no-talking stage, darling. I’ll make it up to you. Ice cream? Dinner? Elaborate cruise trip in summer?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony quiets for roll call, but says one last comment.

“I think I’m going to do the presentation in Comic Sans. Thoughts?”

“I wish you didn’t have thoughts, then maybe you’d leave me alone.”

Tony laughs.

“You’re cute, Barnes. Cute. You know I don’t leave anyone alone.”

There’s a bad day. Bucky gets those sometimes. Every day of his life is a bad day, almost, but this one? The absolute worst.

He had nightmares, barely got any sleep, and found out that his little sister used up the last of his shampoo, so he had to use his mom’s and now he smells like “Strawberry Paradise.”

He hates the day, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet.

Tony Stark, of course, makes it worse. He talks incessantly about something related to robotics or the weather or music or whatever, and Bucky just sees red.

"Can you shut up for one fucking second of your life?” he hisses at him. “Oh my fucking god, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters at all to me.”

Tony’s heard a lot of shit like that. Like, a lot. Probably worse.

But for some reason, it’s hurting more coming from Bucky Barnes.

Tony doesn’t shut up. He knows that. Everyone knows that. He has legitimately given people headaches. His dad has timed his talking and limited him to about two minutes. It would’ve been even less, but at family therapy they’re trying to work on “empathy for others.”

(A crock of bullshit, because Tony’s fairly sure his dad doesn’t know what that is.)

Bucky’s...he’s different. Sure, he hates Tony. Everyone does, and to be completely frank, Tony likes it that way. You know where you stand, how you can be interpreted if people only feel one thing about you.

But Bucky is perhaps the only interesting person Tony knows at this hellhole of a school. He works really hard on his assignments, has more to work on than other kids. He looks frustrated at math equations, but stays and pores over textbooks after school.

He brings a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every single day. Tony thinks the last time he had one was at a birthday party when he was twelve, and even then it wasn’t really a sandwich but more of a deconstructed concept thing that probably cost two hundred bucks a plate.

Now that Tony’s ruminating on it, it’s probably because no one has exactly told him that what he says doesn’t matter. They just say they don’t wanna hear about it. The two concepts are honestly very different. Tony has a sneaking suspicion that he is going to go into a tailspin about this on a Thursday night at two in the morning.

Ha. On a Thursday night at two in the morning. What odd phrasing that is, why is that so weird? It’s night, but it’s morning and you’re supposed to be asleep but morning is a wake-up time, so--

Oh, there’s the meaning.

Why would you discuss a night and a morning? Why does it matter? On a Thursday?

Tony wonders how much shit he’s said that just ultimately doesn’t matter.

This gets him thinking about how much nothing in his life matters. Don’t get him wrong, he knew it.

Knew it in the way everyone tells him he’ll be the next Howard Stark.

Knows it in the way that his own father isn’t exactly all too fond of him and Tony has a problem looking at anything with dear old Captain America because of comparisons that his father makes and honestly he probably almost named Tony “Steve.”

Could you imagine him having the name of Steve? God, he’d barf.

For some reason, this is the worst he’s ever felt. Sure his father hates him and his mother could be considered an absentee at best, but what gets him to cry into his pillow and rethink his entire existence is a guy who has eye circles darker than anyone else’s and thinks that wearing any bright color is “branching out into alternative fashion.”

God, he wishes he had a break.

Nothing you say matters to me.

This is the phrase that gets him. Tony is pretty sure it’s because it’s what everyone thinks.

Ever since then, Tony doesn’t talk to Bucky. Ever.

And that’s...that’s weird to Bucky. It was routine. Tony annoys him, he snaps a bit, and then it starts all over.

Tony looks at him, sometimes. As if he’s some sort of impossible problem he can’t figure out.

When Bucky actually thinks about it, Tony hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s still himself, which is irritating, but he’s not talking about anything and everything and filling up space.

It’s...odd.

He feels a little bit bad because what he said was super shitty and he shouldn’t have said it, but now it’s too late to just kind of awkwardly apologize, and Bucky’s already shit at apologizing anyway.

Summer arrives with a bang. School is let out ,and in comes the ninety-degree-days that melt your damn head off. Bucky’s apartment doesn’t have AC, so their windows are permanently open and fans are blasting as they swear they’re melting.

Bucky needs a job. Preferably one with air conditioning.

He finds one as a driver. Rich people hate taxis, it’s a huge health hazard or whatever they wanna say. He’s not gonna ask. But a nice man named Edwin hands him keys to a damn Cadillac and tells him not to drive too close to the other cars and be careful, because he wasn’t supposed to start the job quite yet, but “something came up.”

Tony fucking Stark. That’s who he’s fucking driving.

“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. He sees Tony get into the car.

“Hey, Jarvis told me I had a new driver, it’s really nice to--oh my fucking god.”

“Where are you driving to.”

“Queens.”

“Queens, seriously?”

Queens isn’t the type of place for someone like Stark to go to. He’s supposed to say Saks Fifth Avenue or Gucci or wherever the hell rich people go when they’re not vacationing in Europe or elsewhere. Not Queens. Especially not Queens.

“It doesn’t matter where I’m going so long as you know where to drive,” Tony says.

“Sheesh. Okay.”

The rest of the drive is silent. It’s not like Bucky can do small-talk. Jesus, he’d rather take his other arm off than do that.

And Tony, obviously, is not going to say anything. Not after hearing that stellar set of remarks from school.

It’s a school. There are kids out front, who practically swarm the vehicle.

“Should I be concerned?”

“No, they do this every week. If you drive the car back home, Jarvis will explain more. You were kind of an ‘on the spot’ hire for us.”

“Got it.”

Jarvis is a kindly old man who Bucky would trust with his Social Security number.

He is also extremely loyal to Tony, at least.

“He helps out with some after-school program at one of the local schools,” Jarvis says, smiling softly. “Has a spot in his heart for the children.”

“What’s he do?”

“Oh, helps them with schoolwork. I think he does some improvement type jobs around there, but he won’t let us know. Secretive, that one.”

Bucky sips his tea and doesn’t say anything about how Tony once told everyone in the class that he was wearing neon yellow boxers and they were the comfiest damn boxers he had. It’s just not pertinent to this conversation.

“You know him, Mr. Barnes?”

“Um, yeah. We go to school together. I’ve seen him around.”

“He’s a good student. Always getting straight A’s. Doesn’t always seem like it, but he listens well. Just has a different method.”

“That’s for sure.”

For the next two weeks, it’s silence. Always. Bucky will turn on the radio and that’s it. The only thing that Tony has said is to “please change the channel to literally anything” when Belinda Carlisle’s infamously terrible “Heaven is a Place on Earth” came on.

And that’s it. Seriously.

When it is two weeks and four days, Bucky can’t take it anymore.

“Look. I have this job for at least two more months. I’m talking to you. So tell me what you’re doing today.”

“Teaching.”

“Wow, way to be descriptive,” Bucky says sarcastically.

Tony knows he shouldn’t throw it back in his face. But honestly, truly, this is pissing him off.

“Oh I’m sorry, does what I say matter to you now? Is that what this is?”

“Oh come on. That was months ago.”

"Not the point!” Tony says. “I’m getting out now. Feel free to pick me up or not. I don’t give a fuck. But don’t you pretend for a damn minute that you give a shit about my reaction since you’ve already made your point.”

The car door is slammed.

Bucky is in somewhat of a pickle.

Sam tells him that he’s, quote, “the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”

And then hangs up.

thank you for being such a good friend sam. really appreciate it.

aw look at the little bitch boy mad because i called him stupid. shut up i’m on a date and don’t care once about you. at all.

i think what i really like about our friendship is how open and empathetic you are to my feelings

do you know how unattractive you are? on a scale of one to ten? prussia.

you can’t count now?

no i can count i’m just saying you shouldn’t exist.

god i hate you. i’ll talk to you next month

(Yes, they have a time limit to texts. Once a month. And Bucky used his to try to get advice like an idiot. He should’ve just asked Steve. Steve probably would’ve sent him money for a milkshake.)

Sharon, upon reading his text, sends him back one message:

so i read this but i’m not emotionally invested. can u make a playlist and send it to me?

oh my god. you have got to be kidding me.

i’m not. i told you that u need to b more creative in life. b spontaneous!!!

He leaves her on read after that.

Bucky has to figure out how to apologize. Genuinely. Because nothing’s worse than having an apology made but knowing that the person isn’t really meaning it, they’re only saying it to make people more comfortable.

(He wonders how many times someone’s apologized to Tony because of this reason.)

He’s not exactly sure how to go about apologizing.

But he figures it’s sooner rather than later, so he takes the subway to Manhattan and then gets a bike (that’s not exactly his, but he’s bringing it back) and starts the trek to the mansion. It’s a good and solid thirty minute bike ride.

Tony is having a rather uncomfortable family birthday dinner. Howard’s, to be specific. He’s not sure why they didn’t just go out, but maybe his father is tired of acting like a happy family in public. God knows Tony is.

(“What’s your favorite thing about your son?” An interviewer had asked cheerily, blush lipstick stretching widely as she smiled.

“Well, it’s certainly not his sense of style,” Howard had joked.

He didn’t know what his favorite thing about his son was. He couldn’t answer the fucking question.)

Jarvis mentions that “Sir Anthony” has a visitor at the door.

“Are you serious, kid?” Howard says, hissing. “You told someone to come over? During a family event?”

"No, of course not,” Tony says hurriedly. He doesn’t have anyone over to the house period. Too much risk, not enough payoff. There was also the fact that the house is basically like a mausoleum because both of his parents would rather be caught dead than spend time in one another’s company anymore.

“I’ll go...I’ll go check who it is.”

Bucky. Fucking. Barnes.

“What are you doing here?” Tony hisses.

“I came to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For telling you that your words don’t matter?” Bucky says, more of a question. “I don’t know what else I would apologize for. Maybe for mean-mugging you. I don’t know.”

“Why?” Tony asks, tiredly. “Why would you apologize for that?”

“Because it’s obviously affecting you and also I know I was in the wrong? That’s why people apologize?” Bucky answers. “What I did was shitty. What you say matters, I was just having a shitty day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It obviously stuck with you a lot longer than I thought it would. So now I’m apologizing.”

No one besides Jarvis has ever apologized to Tony. Ever. Not in a genuine way.

“Did you...did you bike here? You have a bike?”

“What? No.”

“You walked here?” Tony asks, incredulous.

“Of course not, then I’d be arriving, like, an hour later. No, the bike isn’t mine.”

“Who’s is it?”

“I don’t know, some hipster’s from Brooklyn.”

“You stole a bike?”

“The circumstances weren’t ideal, but I don’t have a car to drive to your freakishly large house,” Bucky said bluntly.

Tony grins.

“Well then, Buckster, welcome. Let me give you a ride home.”

He pokes his head into the dining room, where the plates are already being cleared.

“Hey, I gotta give my friend a ride home. Car broke down a couple miles from here.”

“Why don’t you just fix it?” Howard asks. “You’re a Stark.”

“A Stark who would need to order a part for a 1980 Ford Crown Victoria.”

“Tell him to get a better car.”

“Sure, pops.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright, Dear Father of Mine.”

“Just go, damn it!”

Bucky is led to a garage full of luxury cars that probably cost more than his whole block put together.

“Which one you wanna go in?”

“Am I allowed in one of these? Holy fuck these are nice.”

Tony grins.

“Best part about having a car is driving it. Choose one.”

Bucky chooses a bright red car, a smooth Cadillac.

“Holy hell, this is cool.”

Tony drives.

He’s a good driver once you get past the fact that you will fear for your life for at least twenty minutes. He is also notoriously terrible in the city traffic, yelling at drivers and pedestrians alike.

“How are you still alive with the way you drive?” Bucky asks.

“We made it, didn’t we?” Tony asks, grinning. “Now go return your bike and don’t try to walk to my house again.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Naturally.”

Tony talks a lot. But Bucky finds himself listening. It still takes a while, but he talks.

Tony really is smart. His mind just works quickly, and that’s why at school he never really seems to absorb anything.

Bucky tells him about his neighborhood and how much he hates his neighbor because she keeps blasting music at one in the morning.

“So? Blast it in the morning,” Tony says. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Ma would say no.”

“Then don’t tell her!”

When it all changes, it’s when Bucky picks him up from a gala. He gets the following text:

pls come pick me up!! please! i’m begging!

It’s eleven at night, but Bucky sighs and goes to get the car and goes to pick him up.

Tony’s swaying outside. Bucky gets out, getting a pack of Marlboro out of his jacket.

“Shouldn’t smoke,” Tony says.

“You drunk?”

“No, can’t risk it when Howard and Maria aren’t here--mom and dad.”

He almost never calls his parents mom and dad. Ever. Only in public settings.

Bucky lights up anyway. Tony stares at the orange embers flaring up.

“Why did you need a ride?”

“Kind of avoiding an old...enemy. Slash ex-boyfriend.”

“The worst kind of enemy to have. He trying to talk to you?”

“It’s been an all-night event, so--”

The doors burst open.

Out walks the sleaziest guy that Bucky’s ever seen. His suit is garishly designer, the kind that borders on being confused for a tacky suit that you find in a thrift store for two dollars total.

“Tony, baby! Where have you been? I wanted to discuss things with you...in private.”

He gives Bucky a once-over.

“And who are you, catering?”

Bucky immediately wants to clock this guy in the damn mouth.

“Actually this is James, my boyfriend,” Tony says, snaking his arm around Bucky’s waist.

At this point, he’ll just have to go with it. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened.

“And who are you?” Bucky asks. “Sweetheart, you never mentioned you knew someone with such a...unique take on style.”

“I’m Ty, an old and close friend,” he says. He sticks his hand out. Bucky makes him switch hands by holding out his metal hand.

“Nice to see you,” he says. “But unfortunately, I have to take my guy back home. Plans and all that, you know how it is.”

“Bye Ty!” Tony says.

Bucky throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders, bringing him close. A ghost of a kiss to the forehead completes the lie, and Bucky looks back towards Ty, who has his eyes narrowed.

He flips him off with his right hand. (It’s satisfying.)

“Thank you so much for going along with that,” Tony says, looking up.

The cigarette is still in his mouth. He takes a drag, letting embers fall down and disintegrate into the pavement.

“He seemed like a shitty kind of person.”

“Not the best of people, that’s for sure,” Tony mutters. “You wanna go get ice cream?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Getting late night ice cream is like going into a different dimension. Bucky’s not sure if it’s the overbearing, fluorescent white light that gets to him, but Tony seems tired. At ease, but tired.

He gets strawberry ice cream, and Bucky gets chocolate.

They sit and eat for a moment.

“Why do you go to St. Anthony’s?” Tony asks. “It’s clear you hate it.”

“You don’t?”

“Not the worst school I’ve been sent to.”

“You don’t want to be there either?”

“There are a lot of places I don’t want to be, but this isn’t about me, I’m asking about you. You wanna share with the class or get a hall pass?”

Bucky snorts.

“Geez, okay. My mom really wants a good education for me.”

"She know that you don’t know what to do?”

“And how do you figure that?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t be working as a chauffeur for the rich kid if you knew what you were working towards,” Tony says with a shrug. “Seen it happen before. Usually I don’t know who they are, but you figure out commonalities pretty quickly.”

That makes too much sense.

“I have no fucking clue how I’m living my life and my mom wants me to become a businessman.”

“You wanna do that?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that wants to wear a suit?”

“You look like you’d look good in a suit, not that you’d wear one.”

Bucky laughs. Takes a bite of ice cream, and readjusts the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Over the summer, he and Tony get closer. They take walks in the park and Tony drags him into overpriced shops to look at clothes that are the ugliest goddamn things they’ve ever seen.

At some point, they hold hands and discuss secrets of the world of theirs that is unique to them.

Bucky kisses him one night while they’re just leaving perhaps the worst restaurant in the entire state of New York and god Tony didn’t think he’d ever not mind being wrapped up in fake-strawberry scented hair and cigarette smoke clinging to clothing, but he doesn’t mind it.

The whole summer, they’re inseparable. Tony chatters in the front seat of the car, now, and Bucky smiles a little bit more.

They walk in parks together and show each other funny little jokes and make inside understandings and look at sunsets and sunrises and get coffee and look at each other across the room.

It’s love, honest and true. But it’s not love like the never-ending kind. The thing about love is that it is not included in any toolbox, physical or mental. There is one thing that everyone knows regardless of whether it is admitted or not:

Love does not solve everything. It does not fix everything. And one should never rely on it to do anything but exist and work through your person to the best of its ability.

Howard comes back from a business trip. Sees Tony kiss Bucky goodbye, and that is that.

You can’t something like that as a son. It just...it won’t work for business.

Tony is sent to a boarding school upstate. Stricter guidelines, more controlling.

Bucky only hears one thing from Tony:

I’m sorry.

And he doesn’t believe it.

When you’re young, you think love is invincible. You think it survives through everything if you really want it to.

Love doesn’t do that.

Bucky writes letters, calls Jarvis, and mourns the loss of young love. He smokes a little bit more, leaves it clinging to his skin as a reminder that Tony would always wrinkle his nose in that adorable way, but it served to show Bucky that he had a bad habit.

He was in the middle of quitting.

His mother notices it.

Tells him that he needs to get his own shampoo.

“You can’t just use mine all the time,” she says playfully.

He remembers Tony’s hands gently threading through his hair in disbelief as Bucky kissed the living hell out of him.

Now there’s barely any trace.

He stops in his tracks when he sees an old coffee cup of Tony’s in his kitchen cabinet.

“When did you get this one?” Becca asks. She’s drinking out of it. He remembers Tony smiling over it at their little coffee shop that was hidden away. “I love it. It’s so cute.”

“From a thrift store,” Bucky says. “You can have it.”

“Really? Thanks!”

Tony pauses at the smell of cigarette smoke. Remembers blue eyes blazing along with orange embers, smoke curling around long hair and long summer nights.

His roommate at this new school asks if he smokes, if he can get him a pack.

“Uh, no. Just used to know someone who did.”

“You think they could get me a pack?”

“They don’t go here.”

“You can’t call them?”

Tony doesn’t respond.

You can’t call them?

He’s almost texted him about twenty times. Called him about thirty.

He knows the number by heart.

But he knows that Howard made him get a new phone, and now the memories are fading. He wishes he still had the pictures.

Love does not always last. Sometimes it is not meant to. Tony tries to tell himself that as he wakes up with tears streaming down his cheeks.

You always wish it would.

#i am sorry if this doesn't show up with a read more link on my dash but i'm too lazy to fix and i have work in uhhhhhh now #lovelyirony writes #this is sad i know #buckytony #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #mention of sam wilson and sharon carter because i love them #i think i love this a lot #it gives me very specific vibes but also eh #ALSO YEAH DID YOU KNOW IF YOU WALK FROM BROOKLYN TO QUEENS OR WHATEVER IT'S THREE HOURS #IDK WHY I LOOKED THAT UP #anyways i know nothing about new yrok #i thought queens nad brooklyn were not far apart #anyways i don't exactly care about that but oh well #bucky is tough and tony is not and together they are soft and good #anyways yeah the last couple lines. yeah. that's my mindset right now

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babylon-cal · 4 years

Text

Wildflower {c.h}

Pairing : Calum x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested : by @wildflower-tae : hiiii!! first of all i love your blog,i've followed you for a long time and i love your content. can i request like a scenario/imagine/one shot idk what's the difference haha,with calum based on their song 'wildflower' ? you can do whenever you want with it. hope u have a good day/night. love u,stay safe ♡

Warnings : Mentions of Non-Descriptive Sex

Word Count : 1.7k

Wildflower (noun) a flower of an uncultivated variety or a flower growing freely without human intervention.

Nothing about how you two met was cliche. It wasn’t like those moments in cheesy HBO rom-coms where the two love interests would lock eyes with each other from across the room in a party, immediately knowing what to say and falling in love soon after. It wasn’t bumping into each other on the street, causing a clumsy exchange followed by soft glances and one of them asking for the other’s number. You and Calum had met naturally, on a random Saturday night. It wasn’t fate. It just happened. Maybe it was a coincidence.

You had snuck out your bedroom window, your feet landing on the grass below. Dressed in your large coat that was wrapped around your old t-shirt and fell to the mid-thigh of your jeans, you jogged across the lawn and out onto the street. The wind blew against your face and hair as you did so. You didn’t have a plan on where to go but you just let your legs carry you to wherever it wanted to, turning left into another street and past the corner shop that you always bought your ice cream from. You were walking now, your hands in the pocket of your coat, one of them fiddling with your pack of cigarettes, the cardboard slightly torn on the edges.

You approached the neighbourhood football field, the only source of light being a streetlight that stood a few metres away. The empty mass of green in the darkness was such a contrast to the usual bright and cheerful atmosphere of children running around after a football for hours, their giggles and yells floating into the air. The two goals that were on either end of the field had rusted posts, the white paint chipped in some places, exposing the reddish brown metal underneath. On the adjacent sides of the fields, were some empty wooden bleachers that looked unfamiliar since they were usually occupied by parents during the friendly football matches that the neighbourhood committee organised every month.

As you approached one of them, you noticed someone sitting on the top of the bleacher seats. He was wearing a dark coloured hoodie and sweatpants, with a beanie nestled neatly on his head. He had a cigarette between his fingers and he didn’t notice you to the left of him, swinging over the railing to land about 3 feet away from where he was.

“Got room for one more?,” His head turned to notice you, hands in your coat pocket, a small smile on your face. He blinked for a few seconds before speaking up.

“Sure, why not?” He took another hit of his cigarette as you sat next to him, a few inches of space between both your legs. You took out your pack and pulled out a tab. “Here, let me,” Calum said, offering to light it for you with his lighter. He was definitely more friendly that you would have thought him out to be, judging from how he looked at first glance. His thick eyebrows accompanied with the moderate amount of facial hair above his lip and across his jaw and chin made him come across as slightly intimidating, his voice being a contributing factor to that as well. You placed the cigarette between your lips as he lighted it for you, his eyes meeting yours momentarily. You used this to give him a cheeky, flirtatious look causing him to awkwardly look down at the flame, only to find a particular interest in the shape of your lips as an orange hue from the fire casted itself on them.

“I’m Calum, by the way,” his voice was deep but also soft at the same time, like the feeling you get across your arms when a warm blanket wraps around them when it’s raining outside. Tingles that lasted for a few seconds.

I hear you calling out my name, I love the sound

“Calum?” you repeated and took a puff. You hated how terrible it tasted - like a bunch of household chemicals, which was easy to say it might as well be, to be fair. The first time you smoked, you remembered it being so dry and it burned your throat but it calmed you down. Since then, it always felt like your lungs were wrapped in a warm blanket - like Calum’s voice did to you just a few seconds ago.

I love the taste

Only yourself and Calum knew how you ended up connected at the lips, the cigarettes dropped from your hands and falling through the crack between the rows and onto the grass below, burning themselves out. Your hands were wrapped around his neck, while he had one hand on your thigh as his other pressed against your back. You could taste the herbs and chemicals on his lips and was certain he could taste them on yours as well. However, you were too busy focusing on how it felt - surprisingly soft, not at all chapped, and the tiny hairs around them poked at your face. It tickled a little bit. His hand on your thigh radiated a heat that you had never found anywhere else.

And I can see it in your face, you’ve got a side you can’t explain

Kissing Calum felt like an escapade from the daily hustle of everyday life, being a victim of capitalism and forced social conformity. Conventions trying to label everybody and categorise them into boxes. Kissing Calum felt like a “fuck that” to all those things. It felt like eating chocolate cake at 3a.m. because no one can tell you not to or taking long drives across the empty streets at 7a.m. to watch the sunrise in a lookout because no one really takes the time to appreciate something like that anymore. Not like you would ever let this man you just met know this, regardless of whether he had his tongue in your mouth or not.

You always thought your mind to be like the universe - ever-expanding with all its multiple complex structures and forms, where no one really understands what they’re ALL for or how they got to be but it takes a long time for an outside body to discover and understand its functions, compositions and complexities. That was just how your brain was wired, you let it do its own thing - there was no need for intervention.

Unlike you, kissing a random stranger they had just met was out of Calum’s nature. At least, since he turned 20. However, there was something about your energy and presence that made him feel impulsive, dare he say maybe even careless. All of his personal convictions and promises he made to himself seemed to shrink and hide themselves in the back of his mind when he let go of his inhibitions to impulsively press his lips to yours.

You’re telling me you wanna come over, you wanna be closer

You pulled apart from the passionate exchange, your lips distanced by only a few inches. The heavy breathing led to the smell of tobacco and tar overwhelmingly stimulating your senses causing slight discomfort to settle at the back of your throat. Calum’s hand had moved further up your thigh, his large hand now resting on the side of your ass and the warmth radiated through the material of your jeans.

“Let’s go back to your place,” you suggested and he fully agreed. Going back with a man you just met? Sounds like a wish for the most awful things you could think of but you took the risk anyway, especially when he gave your ass a gentle squeeze and kissed you again for a few seconds. He let out a low hum as he did so, the small transfer of vibrations from his throat drove you absolutely mad.

Cuz I know where tonight is going

The walk back to Calum’s house was spent with paced footsteps and your hand gently held in his. The air was colder now, and you felt it breeze through your hair. During this time Calum had learnt a few things about you, realising that you were quite the opposite to him. As the headlights of the black Subaru shone as it drove in the opposite direction of your walk, the conversation between the two of you had led Calum to ask you what your plan for the future was.

“I don’t know,” was all you replied, a small smile tugged at your lips. His face was drawn to confusion soon enough, his eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at you.

“You don’t know? How do you not know?” By this point you were at his front door. He searched for his keys and unlocked the door.

“Less talking,” you replied, closing the door behind you as you entered and pulling him in by the collar to connect your lips hastily. Soon enough, a trail of clothes were left leading up to his room with the night ending in heavy breaths and the creaking of the beds shrouded in secrecy within the four walls.

You’re the only one that makes me…, everytime we…,

Calum had found your carefree, liberated nature absolutely fascinating and the sex felt like something out of a dream. Intense, passionate and almost like a haze when it ended but it was the best each of you could have asked for. It happened again, and Calum knew that if he gave in, you would be up all night tangled with each other.

I’ll tell you what I like

He had asked you for your number as you put your clothes on at the foot of the bed. If it wasn’t for the bedside lamp that he had turned on, the room would be in pitch darkness. As you tied your shoelaces, you looked up to him when he asked the question, the covers now covering the lower half of his body. You blinked over the tattoos that were intricately spread out across his torso, noticing a MMXII under his right collarbone.

My wildflower

“Well, I usually don’t give my number out,” you said walking towards him. “because i just like meeting people or bumping into them,” you paused “but..” you leaned in closer to his face “maybe I’ll see you around the football field again,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek and proceeded to leave his house, leaving him wondering and desperate to see you again and as much as he wanted to be able to see you what he wanted, he figured by now that you’re a wildflower, growing freely without human intervention.

#calum hood imagine #calum hood one shot #calum hood x reader #calum imagine #calum hood #calum one shot #calum #5sos imagin #5sos one shot

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jae-canikeepyou · 4 years

Text

| temporary | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst?? idek what else to describe what i wrote (nonstop) but yeah idk you judge :D

a/n: i don’t want this to flop just because it’s sad hours.. jk! there’s 7.1k words down there but hey, angst could be good, but i don’t think this is well written because the structure writing’s meh. so aNywHo i hope what’s below could touch your heart? pls lmk! enjoy reading! ~j

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you hate this.

you hate the smell of some random sharp chemical scent stinging your nose, the bland flavours of each meal, the repeated uniform gowns put onto you like you were attending school again. well you were supposed to be until medical records showed you were sick. not dying but based on several incompatible matches and rejected cases to cure your condition, you knew the trail you stood on was heading there.

it was dreadful, knowing that the weeks turned to months— waiting sucked big time especially when you continuously had to cross out days without a specific date to look forward to.

“don’t worry y/n. this is all temporary.” was the only sentence your brother told you.

you hoped all this would be a hurdle to jump over, like another race to finish. running along the track line had its perks. you get to challenge yourself at the endurance you have while the time ticked and caused a rush of exciting adrenaline. the audience were cheering too. the downfall?

you were tired.

to the point you wanted to stop this illness so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. the track drawn out for you was neverending.

here’s the good part though,

jaehyun was with you all since the day you arrived, and cheering for you too— like your own personal health companion. the encounter with him was amusing now that you recalled it.

( three months ago )

you sat comfortably on the bed, still adjusting to the new yet familiar setting. “change into this gown, and i’ll assist you to the doctor once you’re done.” nurse kim, better known as jisoo, patted your shoulder before she tended to others in need.

“thank you.” you mouthed, throat still sore from crying because you didn’t want to be back in the hospital. though you really felt fatigue consuming you and energy was vacuumed out of your system, you forced yourself to change anyway.

not until your peripheral spotted a young man opposite from you stared at your body that was half way to exposing. he knew you were about to react, so he rushed to cover your mouth and managed to muffle out a scream trying to escape your lungs. “shhh! please don’t!” he pleaded and gosh how melodic his voice was for a baritone.

thank heavens this man was ethereal, or else you would’ve smacked him with your fists like any other stranger intrusion. he finally let go of you knowing you’ve calmed down. “hi? i’m sorry if i came off as perverted but i mean no harm! i’m friendly!”

“well hello friendly.” your sarcasm on point. “what are you doing in my side of the i.c.u.? there’s a curtain surrounding my corner and how did you get in here without my knowledge? i should be able to notice you either way.” you hugged your torso.

he crossed his arms at the tone of your voice. ”it’s jaehyun. my name’s jaehyun.” he corrected and sat at the end corner of the bed. “that’s kinda hard for me explain.”

“what’s hard to explain-”

“it’s like how it is to a math solution.” he said, his body adjacent to the window. “go on and change. i won’t look.”

you rolled your eyes and kicked him off of the bed. “ugh you’re a pain. i’ll be more assured if you’re out of here.” you took off your clothes and into the new fabric and observed his back figure. he had toned muscles denting slightly under his denim pajamas and white home slippers. he didn’t leave, just kept his word by not peeping at you.

the bed creaked softly alerting him of your finished action. “ah, you’re done!” he exclaimed and turned around in interest.

“what business do you have here if i may ask?” you went to the extent of covering yourself with another pillow.

jaehyun hummed as he rubbed his chin, dimples hollowing and prominent stubbs pricked his fingers. “i’m looking for something i left. it’s a keychain.”

“couldn’t you just go to the lost and found section?” you asked, shooing him away while you scrolled down your phone. again he didn’t leave. “how long are you staying?”

a sly grin crept his face. he leaned closer to you as if he were to kiss you. “as long as you want me to-”

“gross!” you slapped him but he read your actions, stopping your from pursuing. “just find the damn item and leave!”

“fine sheesh.” he shrugged and began searching it under the bed, crawling around to see if it was there.

boredom soon came and you tried to clear your mind from what just happened. you went to the camera icon to take a picture of him to show to your best friend. the viewfinder captured his fluffy hair, side profile with his dimples stapled to his cheeks. his lips were pursed and brows were scrunched. as you sent it, you laid back inclined to the bed, waiting for him to say ‘eureka!’ or ‘found it!’.

but he said neither.

your phone dinged soon enough that your eyes widened.

[09:03] yuna: did you see a cockroach crawling again? if yes then you’re a bad photographer 😆

you let out a long “ha?” and jaehyun looked up to see your face as sour as it could get. “what’s wrong?” he asked and sat next to you as if you both were close already. his face turned blank when his eyes looked at the phone, and he knew you saw his change of expression.

“this is what i mean it’s hard to explain.”

there was a long silence and then it hit you. it wasn’t sheer panic bubbling your lungs or fear overpowering your mind. more of a fascinated shock of a revelation. “y-you you’re—”

jaehyun smiled embarrassingly, scratching the nape of his neck. “yeah.. i’m a—”

“a ghost.” “an angel.”

“what? no! i’m not a ghost!” he shifted on the bed, furthering away from you at the comment. “ghosts haunts people. angels protects people.” his hand gestures explaining his current identity was hilarious.

the phone was on low power mode so when it dimmed, you tapped on the screen, the picture you took show no one but the floor and the bed’s corner. and you haven’t laughed in a while, this jaehyun was entertaining when he defended. “pretty sure that’s not how i encountered you earlier. you scared me.” you raised a teasing brow.

“it really wasn’t my intention.”

the sigh he let out made you laugh more, his surrendering whine would stay in your head forever. “were your wings removed, jaehyun?” you asked. “can other people see you? or am i the only one who can see you? oh wait. this is a million dollar question.” you brought your hands together and he definitely wasn’t amused. “are you even alive?”

he flicked your forehead and you swore there was a red mark on it. “yes. yes—well only children— yes. and.. no.“ he said softly, the latter expressed in sorrow and his shoulders slouched low. “i woke up at the rooftop of the hospital one day because of this soft blanket hugging my back, they were my wings. i knew i wasn’t alive anymore. so when i came to accept it days after, i wanted to try out flying around the city and jumped off the hospital grounds and i fell instead of flying.”

“pfft! what you get from trying out something you ain’t familiar with, fallen angel.” you covered your mouth in realisation but jaehyun wasn’t agreeing with your assumption. “literally you are?”

“i’m not that type of angel. maybe i have some unfinished business, i don’t know. but i’d like to think i’m an angel!”

you hummed, convinced enough at this event. “ah maybe because you left your keychain? that’s counted as unfinished.”

another strong flick numbed your forehead. “no? we can’t bring stuff to heaven.” he gurgled at your innocence. “you’re going to help me find the solution to gain my earthly memories and my unfinished business so i can go to the other side.” jaehyun held your hands, the grip strong yet soft all at the same time.

“why me?” you exchanged looks from him and the view outside. “i’m no expert in this field.”

jaehyun’s eyes twinkled; not in awe but in desperation. “you are the only person who can help me. i can’t rely on children because.. they’re children and they’re so young.”

well that’s common sense, y/n.

“i’ll help.” not knowing why you agreed, but your heart just ache for this beautiful man. he couldn’t remember how he passed, he seemed desperate too, and needed someone to talk to. maybe you could fill in that role before the time came for him.

“thank you!” he had his fists clenched, twirling around as he yelled out the window. “i haven’t gotten your name yet.” his hands fell faintly onto yours, almost a tingly feeling.

“y/n.” you took his hand for a shake, holding onto it dearly. “i’m y/n, nice to meet yo-”

suddenly, his lips kissed the area where he flicked you. “well my dear y/n..” he smiled. “..consider this contract signed. there are conditions, but we can discuss that later.”

life in the hospital starting today wouldn’t be too boring. he stood beside the bed with the most starstriking smile you’ve ever seen, celebrating his awaited desire. you befriended jaehyun and he wasn’t a patient or part of the medical staff. he looked at you with bliss; the sun illuminated from behind him and that really confirmed it..

no, he wasn’t a ghost. he was indeed a spirit.

or angel. he’ll probably prefer that way.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

your brother became more protective than he usually was. straight to the hospital for you was added to his tight schedule and even then he was able to find time to care for you despite that. if you were to talk about the best big brother in the world, he was definitely the first place even in another life.

“guess who’s here.” taeyong cooed and pulled the curtains as he entered your area in the i.c.u. he found it strange when you didn’t greet him with your handshake nor a smile.

he sighed quite heavily at the bowl prepared for you, it turned cold and he placed his bags on the chair beside you. “hey kiddo, you have to eat something, yea?” he brushed your strands away to see your welling eyes looking at the distance outside. the window was the only thing separating you and the world.

most of all, your social life.

taeyong looked back to the day at campus two years ago; he remembered how he rushed to the university clinic after his lecture, stumbling as his legs gave in seeing you with the same pained expression. he should be used to the sight, but each time you end up in a place he never wanted you to be in, it was like seeing it for the first time.

he also remembered how his eyes trailed to your arms that rubbed your mid back. the nurses calming you with words of encouragement that you’d be fine. you didn’t like how you caused him so much worry, maybe one more push he’d be exploding into flames because you weren’t getting any better.. or probably he’d lose some hair because of the stress.

“i.. don’t want to eat.” you weakly pushed the tray on the mini table above your thighs. “i’m sick of this place and i’m sick of being sick. i just wanna go home.”

he knew that certain voice you have which made his heart sunk, but he knew you too well that you missed his cooking. “i know, but it’s short-lived, your condition is curable and you staying here is temporary.”

uh-huh.. that word again.

“and i made you these.” the cushion of the bed lowered due to his weight, making you shift to him. “fried corndogs. added a little twist to it with johnny’s help with the sauce. eat it before nurse jisoo arrives.”

at the corners of your eyes, jaehyun’s lips puckered at the sight of food. this caused you to save a box for him. you gave him a wink and set that aside. you could feel his figure arching to sit next to you as he began eating his share.

“you’re more afraid of her than i am.” you teased taeyong, finally smiling. “get her number already or else i’ll tell her how you’ve been crushing on her since forever.”

“forever’s an exaggeration, sis.” taeyong picked the stick and handed it to you. “it’s only been three months.”

“and three months means your cowardice is really preventing you from doing that.” the crunch from the dish made him tickle you in all vulnerable places and you rolled your eyes remembering the warning of your body’s strength exertion.

jaehyun nodded in agreement, licking the mustard that stained his fingers. “yeah, that’s a coward right there. can i give him lessons?” he stated, and you nearly choked in giggles.

taeyong then checked his watch, pecking you a kiss which got you forming questions at the back of your head. “oh the time.”

you gently placed the devoured stick into the box and dove in other sticks for seconds— or thirds. “you’re leaving? you just got here.”

he gave a wink and tugged the curtains. “not yet. i’m doing what you suggested me to do.” he gestured his palms, indicating that he would attempt to actually get her number. “she’s gonna be off duty in five. later honey.”

focused on the meal, you waved at him as you continued eating. jaehyun scooted closer to you. both enjoyed the meal and he hummed a song; something he would do when his palate craved food from the world. “i still find it unbelievable that taeyong couldn’t see me.” he giggled while the crisp sound of the batter synchronised with yours.

“you mean how you’re finally able to eat actual food each time he comes here.” your voice almost bursting into laughs of mockery, but held them in since jaehyun has been helping you as well. he nudged you gently and ever so sweetly, a toast cheer from your meals.

“yeah, but it’s because we have connection y/n, i’m able to eat solid food. so thank you.”

being locked in an all white room prevented you from going outside, that was fine since jaehyun was there with you, you wouldn’t be that bored. the pact you created with him was so simple that you could memorise it in a second. his requests were you both would be together everyday, cater to each other’s needs, eat and watch some series he missed out or discontinued.

and in the three months being with him, days were getting better. he actually knocked down the walls of your thoughts of hopelessness, encouraged you during your sad hours and hyped you up when you have some rehabilitation sessions. medical staffs were shocked that for someone whose condition was clearly on the verge, the will to live was written all over you.

jaehyun appreciated the ideas you’ve given him; memories or events that he might’ve forgotten, or any category he used to love like sports / music. he mentioned he knew how his family looked like, but not their names nor his home address. so he couldn’t visit them. though there was little progress and countless of bickers regarding the matter, you both were getting somewhere on each ends. and in the midst of it, you had each other as support.

“does your family or ancestors have some kind of gift?” he sunk down with you at the inclined bed rest. “while taeyong might not have it, you do?”

“maybe, but i’m not sure. we don’t talk about these things.. of the unknown, ghosts and spirits and-” your jaw dropped when he bit the remaining half of the corn dog from the stick you held. “jaehyun!”

“how many times do i have to tell you i’m a guardian angel?” he immediately rebutted your clumsy referral while chewing deliciously. “specifically yours, so don’t deny my role for you.”

your heart skipped beats. the claim he just did was heartwarming, and it was the first he said anything nice since your introductions months prior. “w-who said you’re my a-angel?” you batted your lashes.

jaehyun pointed at himself and disappeared to somewhere you do not know where he’d go considering he wasn’t familiar within the city. at night it was always like this, at 8pm sharp, he’d leave without saying goodbye, leaving you alone. then he would return the next day, greeting you with the same smile. maybe being an angel had its curfew too?

but as the sun rose the following morning and the colours merged into the prettiest pair the city ever witnessed, jaehyun anticipated the minute he sees your eyes slowly opening then adjusting to the light of the day. your calm beauty had him awestruck. he never felt this way before, more so, it was the first since he became a spirit.

come on come on come on, he stared at the hand of the clock, just one more second—

“hey.” he froze once he heard you and hesitated to turn around. “this is a new look on you.”

jaehyun shyly did so anyway, ears red that his planned surprise for you ended up failing. “do you like it?”

the long hums of your morning voice was more nerve-wrecking than waiting for the time to reach its end. “like? i love it! you look fresh!” you complemented him in all honesty.

until today, he wore the same denim pj’s and lets not question whether he does change. what struck you was that he wore a simple white tshirt with denim jeans, pairing them with a brown suede ankle boots. that wasn’t the key point of his fashion today.

rather, he topped his attire with costumed angel set; a halo and wings. when a proud smirk appeared, it got to you that he was really handsome. “sweet. oh i got you breakfast.” he tossed two sandwiches, carefully wrapped yet your nose could smell its delish filling.

“thanks.” you accepted them. “i didn’t know angels have their allowances.”

“we don’t. i used your cash.” jaehyun said, playing with the change coins. he flinched for cover, your hands in attempt to hit him.

you pinched his cheeks with the support of his hollowed dimples. “i told you to tell me if you’re going shopping with my money! is the costume included too?”

“i was supposed to but it seemed like you were having a nice dream!” he poked your forehead and there was no chance to fight back because for one, it was part of the contract. “and i’m sure it’s a nice one..” he trailed off, pointing at the small drools on your pillow.

his dimples started to show and you couldn’t resist its existence. “be thankful you’re really cute. anyway, did you ask children to do it for you again?”

jaehyun scratched the nape of his neck. “yes, and i treated them in return. who are you texting?” he hovered over you.

your lips straightened to a flat line. “i’m talking with jinho. he said he’s coming but you know men, they sometimes break promises. he’s probably not going to come again today.”

jaehyun didn’t know why his heart squeezed, if it was for how you were treated unfairly or if it was just him. he wasn’t in the position to feel this way towards you. yet because it was you— someone he spent three months with— he thought maybe it was normal to have such feelings. he visits you every single day, cared for you, be with you when your boyfriend not once ever did.

the thing was, did he have the right to keep these unexplainable bubbles of emotions in his gut? it wasn’t like you belonged with him anyway. just why did jaehyun hate it when your lips utter jinho’s name when he never acted like your beloved?

“why are you still with him when he doesn’t show affection for you?” jaehyun pat your head in comfort.

“maybe because i love him.” you typed on the screen to message him, yet stopped a while when he said those words. he was right, if jinho truly loved you, he’d be here already. so you stayed silent instead and divert the conversation. “oh this can help your memory! about love! did you perhaps have a girl-”

*zing!* sharp stings pierced and came to jaehyun’s temples like arrows.

he held the pain in as he didn’t want to worry you. “i’m gonna head out for a bit, y’know fresh air.” he swallowed his own saliva, hoping you didn’t hear it. he didn’t mean to be rude and disappear at you like that. his chest squeezed again at the thought of you with someone else.

he didn’t know what love felt like until now.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

it was unexpected.

jaehyun never imagined he would fall for you so soon, or ever thought of you nothing more than a friend who’d help him go to the other side. if he had to describe the relationship you both have, that’d merely be a boss-client kind of thing. yet he still knew that there was a connection despite him not being human anymore. there were frequent playful nudges and he waited half a year to be able to communicate with people. you were special.

special in a way that you treated him like he was alive again. you didn’t care about whether people would give you stares as your silhouette seemed like you were talking to yourself or someone they couldn’t see in the naked eye, or how nurse jisoo and taeyong would ask why you didn’t eat all of your meal only to save the other half for him. he was spoiled by you, where it was supposed to be the way around. sometimes he wondered if he was the right angel to look after you. in the end, it was him who initiated the contract and you complied without hesitations.

as if he were to watch a movie— except he wasn’t— pictures flashed before his vision, from a blurred quality to a clearer one. it was short, yet it was not enough to tell him what they were. maybe it was a memory, but he couldn’t put the scenes together.

he rubbed his eyes and felt the light gust of wind from children running through him with a ball in their hands.

then another fragment came to his sight, the sting of his temples ache like ones in the room. bright lights from the memory have blinded his eyes before it was replaced by the sun’s rays.

what the heck? he thought.

—

jaehyun kicked the stones that were separated from the cracked concrete ground. the way the stones rolled was identical to his churning stomach. he wondered how you were doing and later smiled to himself when he saw you waving at him from your window.

his palms were brought out to wave back except your lips didn’t utter his name. it was jinho, who happened to behind him; holding flowers.

of course.

he forgot about it for while; you have a boyfriend.

by this time he started to question if angels or spirits actually do have feelings; romantically. televisions never specified this fact. taeyong appeared in his field of view, who successfully asked jisoo out on a date. since when did hospitals served as a love spot? clearly his mood changed, but seeing you noticing him and waved at him, he decided to apologise for cutting you off earlier.

and he wished he shouldn’t have entered the i.c.u, from the door entrance the curtains were slid to the bedside. you were embraced in his arms, held onto dearly. he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. a bouquet of flowers wrapped around your fingers. not wanting to intrude or ruin the moment, he turned around to give you space. it was your personal life after all.

he thought that maybe if he were alive, would things turn out differently if he met you? he would probably treated you better if ever.

jaehyun leaned against the door frame of the i.c.u. the human him would tell him he was definitely heartbroken witnessing that. he was supposed to be happy for you; you were improving mentally, recovering physically even if it was slow. your boyfriend finally visited you.

speaking of the said person, he felt jinho’s figure leaving the room, brushing past and through him. so he looked back at you, who was staring at him with a weak smile.

were you okay?

then tears brimmed at the edge of your eyes.

yeah, you definitely weren’t okay.

“y/n?” jaehyun called out and approached your bed, being the curtains to a close and sitting beside you afterwards. “what’s wrong? why did jinho leave so soon?” he pointed.

your face went pale and though ordinary people would know it was due to the illness, jaehyun knew it was about something else. he held your hands, pulling you gently for a hug. it was still funny if you think about it; how you could hug an angel physically. “we called quits. it was mutual though, don’t be too shocked.” you fixed your chin onto his shoulder and felt him tense at the revelation.

“why? you wanted him to come over and he did. you should be happy.” jaehyun stared into your swollen eyes, cupping your jaw to wipe the fallen tears away. “he gave you flowers, hugged you.. what’s lacking?”

“that wasn’t a normal hug.. it was a parting one. jinho told me he couldn’t take it.” you began, leaning more into his touch. “he doesn’t like that he’s incapable of helping me get through all this. seeing me suffering was too much for his heart.”

jaehyun’s fists balled and you could see them shaking. his eyes turned darker the more you explained. “so he was thinking of himself more than he thought of you?” his tone raised and you flinch at the volume. “where’s the mutual in that, y/n? you agreed to his selfishness even if you’re hurting so much?”

“it is mutual jae.” you sniffed, sitting up properly to expound further. “for the past three months i’ve been wanting him to come here because i wanted to break up with him. i wanted to tell him that he should get used to..” your voice trembling and jaehyun held you close. “..that he should get used to not having me around anymore. i fell out of love. so if there’s anyone who’s selfish, it’s me.”

“what.. are you saying?..” he asked softly. “it sounds like you’re giving up.” referring to your existence around the people you love. “are you giving everything up? all we did to improve your condition?”

a sob escaped your lips and you covered your face because you couldn’t look at him in the eye as you answer. you didn’t like to appear weak to him than you already were. “jaehyun, when you disappeared, the doctors came and said there was no kidney donor. it’s finalised. they’ve contacted local and overseas hospitals and none were of my match. i’m getting sicker each day and i really appreciate the motivation you’ve given me and there’s nothing left in my soul to fight any longer.”

“no no no no. please me tell me you’re not serious, y/n.” he begged. “tell me that you’re going to rethink about it and have the will to live. tell me that what we both signed up for will not go in vain. we worked hard together. we helped each other, we went through thick and thin. tell me that your decision is not permanent.”

“and what? you’re going to tell me my condition’s temporary too? if yes then you’re just like taeyong and nurse kim jisoo.” you laid back down and stared at the window.

jaehyun was about to speak when you started to sniff again. “everything that’s happening to me is always temporary.. nothing ever stays.. no one ever stays.. taeyong’s visits are limited, my personal nurse is always busy.. and what hurts me the most is that our time together is temporary too. soon enough you’ll go to the other side.. you’re only the friend i have now.”

“hey..” he cooed and now laying down beside you, wrapping you in his arms as you sunk more onto his chest. “..don’t say that. i-i’m still here.” even if he said that, jaehyun knew that that was false; that day would actually come, he just didn’t know when.

you turned to face him and hugged him tightly, sleep starting to get to your system. “when i met you, you became more of a boyfriend than jinho ever did.”

he caressed your back and you could feel the vibrations from his soft laughs. “look, i’m sure jinho did his best to be your boyfriend. and if i was your boyfriend.. well you’re talking about a guy who hasn’t gotten a single clue of who he is nor have his memories returned. my unfinished business is still a blank page. it may look temporary now but i guarantee you, i know you’ll have that new transplant, it’ll be-”

“that will never come.. i’m dying, jaehyun.”

jaehyun hummed in disagreement. he was fuming but he tried his best not to show it, that will contradict with his role of being your guardian angel. “tsk, say anything further i’m really gonna flick your forehead.”

you chuckled since it reminded you about the first day. “i mean, if i don’t make it, that would mean i get to be with you. it’s not temporary anymore, right?”

he bursted in scoffs of disbelief and you could tell he was playing around at the same time. “what? do you wanna be with me so much?” he questioned, flicking your forehead. “i wouldn’t mind having a side kick though.”

“i’m kidding, but truth to be told, you’re the best angel anyone could ask for.” you fixed the crooked halo headband for him. “no wonder children loves angels.”

“you’re acknowledging i’m an angel now, huh?” he messed your hair. “if children loves angels, what about you?”

*zing!* jaehyun shut his eyes closed. an unclear image of him locking his phone; its wallpaper of him and his parents.

tsk why am i feeling this again—

“i’ll say yes if that’s what you want to hear.” you challenged. jaehyun squinted his eyes open, to you it was pretty obvious it was what he wanted to hear.

jaehyun pinched your cheeks to awake you from reality, once again setting the memory aside. “we can’t date. i don’t want to be a rebound.” he stuck out his tongue, making you mirror the same. “you’re human, i’m an angel.”

“technically a ghost but i’ll take it as a self-proclaimed angel.” you shrugged, a curve appearing at the corners of your lips. “anyway, should we continue watching-”

the curtains separated which made you and jaehyun jolt in shock. “y/n!”

taeyong’s voice echoed the room, glad that most patients were asleep and he threw himself onto the bed. jaehyun got up, letting your brother hug you. “they were wrong!” he cried in tears of joy.

“they messed up your records. your condition was identical with another patient’s!”

you saw jaehyun giving him a look you think would pass as a meme. “what is he saying?” he asked.

“what are you saying?” you blinked several times at his shaking hands and hoarse hiccups.

“you have a donor!” he exclaimed.

jaehyun’s smile grew and as he walked towards you, he held your hands to squeeze them in congratulatory. “well, what did i say y/n? told you it’ll come.”

the pain on his temples faded it always did, but it was something he experienced quite often in the past days. he couldn’t figure what it was.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

almost everyone in the room observed how anxious you were, the fiddles of your fingers and the constant biting of your lips that they could bleed any moment now. you were moved to a new room and jaehyun poked your cheek to gain your attention and to snap out of your daydream. a satisfied grin plastered on his face when your eyes locked into his.

you thought maybe the heavens probably heard his words. last week, he did say the transplant would come, and it did. soon later, you would be having an operation; a new kidney to function. you waited for this for so long that just thinking about it, you’d probably cry again.

seeing jaehyun stare into the panorama of the city before him had your chest tightening. it wasn’t good nor bad..maybe you were just nervous that the reality of all this was actually happening. he was glowing compared to most days; and it’s not due to the sun adding extra illumination to his figure. it was like the first day, his greeting was awkward but it became something you’d never forget.

the medical staff left after briefing you, injecting anaesthesia so you could meet your slumber. taeyong messaged he would try to arrive as soon as he could, and you were assured by the time the operation’s done. now the room was silent, all you could hear was jaehyun’s shoes clicking on the marbled floor. his hands grabbing yours to comfort you.

“scared?” he asked with faint dimples trying to boast. you nodded. “you shouldn’t be. you’ve waited for this for so long. everything’s gonna turn out fine for you. and i’m here, guarding you as usual.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he responded by holding your waist, sinking in deeper into the embrace. “i’m not scared now. i don’t know how different it’d be if i hadn’t met you- well, you introduced yourself first before i did, so..”

your eyelids suddenly began to drop, the drug soon kicking in. “y/n, when you come out of that room, only half of the contract’s completed. there’s still mine to go.” he said, laying you gently on the bed.

“i know. it’s just everything seems to happen so fast.” you admitted sadness, because that always was in your head since the news broke to you.

“do you have any questions before you sleep?” jaehyun propped his elbow onto the side table, fascinated how you were still trying to keep yourself awake just to converse with him. “about me. because who knows if you would remember me once you’re conscious again.”

“why would i forget my angel?” you giggled, eyes closing. “hm.. i was going to ask you this but you ditched me haha.”

“oops. sorry about that.” embarrassed, jaehyun rubbed his chin just recalling that day.

“i wanna know if you knew how love felt like. do you remember?”

*zing!* red lights circled around in a container orbit, its center rotating as if it was signalling.

jaehyun was stunned and out of words for a while. the same feeling came flushing to him as you both talked about love before. of course he knew what love was. you made him remember. love was like sailing on a boat at the open ocean before stumbling upon something so beautiful that you couldn’t take your eyes off of. “yeah i do. why?”

although you felt that you’re close to drifting to dreamland, an urge in you wanted to tell him why. “because you asked me if i ‘love’ you.”

*zing!* the clock striked 8. it doubled and tripled in vision, moving in a static way.

jaehyun felt dizzy and nauseous. please just stop..

holding the stinging pain in and ignoring it, he leaned closer. “do you now?” he asked, a sly smile creeping his mouth. “if you’re to ask me, i do love *zing* you.” he heard you manage to let out a giggle. “i love to enlighten you when you’re down. i love talking with you and stealing your food. basically just everything about you.”

“hm, same. like platonic love.” your hands find your hold his.

“mhm. platonic.. lo-” he paused due to the continuous throbbing, and gave you a little squeeze despite the hurt he had been feeling recently. hesaw how you didn’t reply, your breaths heaving softly and calmly. his smile broke out as this always happened whenever you held onto him.

what he couldn’t say out loud was that what he felt for you the entire time wasn’t a platonic love.

he really loves you like you’re his.

—

heavy pain awoke you from unconsciousness. you tried to open your eyes without letting the light blinding them. the first person you saw was taeyong and jisoo, their bodies almost covering your pan of view. your eyes craved to see jaehyun, your chest drummed fast when you couldn’t.

taeyong looked worried, brushing the strands from your face. “are you okay? do you feel any pain?” his palms caressed your face.

you didn’t answer, yet the tears wanting to fall have met its end. jisoo quickly left to find the surgeon and taeyong followed to fill in paperwork. where was jaehyun? why wasn’t he here with you? he always appear before you as soon as your eyes flutter open. you were so used to seeing his face and that you were assured he’d be there.

more than two hours have passed and jaehyun still hasn’t shown himself. so far into the day, you’ve eaten porridge, changed a new set of clothes, had a few conversations with taeyong and jisoo, and watched the series alone. even then you waited for him to come. now you were left alone briefly again. you tried to sit up or incline the bed.

“if you needed help, call my name. did you forget me already?” jaehyun’s body assisted yours by acting as a support. “you shouldn’t move too much, y/n.”

jaehyun felt his torso like he was hugged by a koala. “i thought you’re gone. i didn’t see you when i woke up..” your voice soft and hoarse.

“i was here the whole time, behind jisoo and taeyong.” he said, puzzled by how late you noticed him.

“stay with me for a while.” you requested, and he followed. “i love how you’re always here.”

again, sharp stings hit his temples. fragments of past memories came flushing to him. they were still monotone, but this time they were clear enough to see what they were trying to portray. was it how he passed? there were people pumping his chest, people holding his hands dearly.

even without seeing his face, you could feel jaehyun was uncomfortable. he didn’t know why the pain was frequent. “is something bothering you, jaehyun?” you pulled away, and you were shocked to see him switching from solid to translucent; like he was flickering. “hey, why are you-” you reached out for him, but your hands failed to hold his. they passed through him like he was gas. you couldn’t feel him anymore.

“y/n..” jaehyun gave a painful look, something you’ve never seen before. “i think i’m fading.”

you arched your brows and lips parted at that certain sentence you thought you’d hear in the far future. “why? our contract is not done yet.” you replied, still attempting to at least touch him again. “we have yet to find your unfinished business.”

jaehyun knew what this meant. he knew what was happening. he felt stupid for not telling you sooner. “maybe it’s already revealed, i just haven’t acknowledged it.” he saw his limbs flickering then fading, taking turns of the two. he was worried, but he somehow felt safe.

it was hard to understand what he was trying to say. each word that came out of his lips were shooting your heart like daggers. you clenched your clothes by the buttons of your pajamas, tears forming then falling. “w-what do you mean? are you leave-” you quivered though you didn’t want to show it. “how long have you known?..” the reality of it now seeping into you.

“i’ve known and realised it for a week now.” he said, forcing his lips to smile, to appear unaffected. “whenever the word ‘love’-” he groaned at the pain again, bending down slowly. “..’love’ is mentioned, i feel this rush of mixed pain and happiness. i think it’s related to what i have left here on earth.”

“i knew you were acting strange, but i thought it was nothing because you’d looked fine.” you asked, trying to get off the bed to go to him. you wanted him to explain further because none of what he said was processing in your brain right now. “you seemed fine..”

“the reason why you could see me was because you’re the person who will make me remember what love is.” he held your face, and all you felt was a tingling feeling from his touch. “when i was alive.. i was a stubborn boy who only cared about himself. i never had a relationship, never appreciated the love my parents given me.”

“if you remember all this.. did your memory show you how you.. died?” you looked at him and he gave a smile, almost a parting one.

“yeah.. it was the first hint.. i was late for my basketball championship match. i was texting my parents to come to the game while crossing the street.” jaehyun chuckled, a bitter one and people could tell if they actually heard him. “i saw i was rushed to the ambulance, the sirens alerting everyone.. i was wheeled into the e.r.. i guess you know what happened next.”

then he broke down, arms bringing to his face. “..i couldn’t tell mom and dad i love them..” jaehyun weakly came forward, pulling you into his embrace. it was confusing that he could touch you, but you couldn’t. no matter how much you wanted to give him comfort like he use to do with you. he held onto you, as if he didn’t want to let you go.

“why didn’t you tell me what you’ve been feeling? why tell me now, jaehyun?” you tried to cup his face but to no avail they still went through it. you’re practically begging him to give you reasons why he had to hide it from you.

the shakiness his pupils did have shown he was scared. “i didn’t want you to feel sad about me. that’ll only destroy the joy from the news you received.”

your palms dropped to your thighs, breaths hitching and let out uncontrollable muted gasps. “i am sad now! i’m sad that you’re leaving me-”

his touch calmed you. “i never really got to say this because all we ever did was to support each other but.. i really, deeply, from the bottom of my heart.. thank you, y/n. you taught me how to love again, in the little things and..”

“jaehyun..” you sighed heavily and eventually cried with him, heart tugging your strings until they snapped.

“..and maybe that’s my unfinished business.” his smile was definitely forced.

and you did the same. “i’m glad i was able to help.. i’m glad you’re able to find what love is. but if you could love a person again, i’m sure they’re very lucky.”

hearing him let out hurtful laugh and sniffs became often as you told those words. “you are lucky you’re loved by an angel. i told you i love you, right?” his arms went through your body, then his entire body moved back like he was magnetised to something he waited for.

it was time.

you felt the same kiss on the forehead for the final time.

he saw how you wailed, craving for his embrace, like a child looking for a mother’s touch. what ached him was that you couldn’t see him anymore. the cries became louder, taeyong ran to you, thinking you were still hurt from the operation. he was an angel, he should be strong for you but all he felt was

hurt.

he shouldn’t have left your side at night. he should’ve stuck with you like glue. he wanted to spend longer time with you.

what hurt him the most was he should’ve known that three months was temporary.

your eyes caught sight of the man you stayed with you. because of him, you got to find out a lot about yourself when you were vulnerable, things that had to be dug deep in order to find that hidden gem. in the past minute you couldn’t see him. but now he was floating in the air, glowing more than usual. you smiled painfully because he still wore that stupid halo and wings, and the letters you’ve written that you hoped he wouldn’t see but he actually did.

taeyong and jisoo’s words of comfort did nothing on you, as you saw your angel jaehyun drifting further away from you. you reached out for him and he did so too and,

he smiled for the final time, tears visible and they rolled down his cheeks. “i love you, y/n. so so much.”

you cried harder and clenched onto taeyong, not caring whether it hurt him or not. your brother gave a confused look, shocked to see how much your frail body exert such sorrow.

“me too.” you wanted to tell him, yet it wasn’t close to a whisper.

you hate this.

you hate that the only person you’ve just grown to love departed from the tip of your wavering fingers.

you hate the word temporary.

#jung jaehyun #nct 127 #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun imagines #jung yoonoh #nct #nct scenarios #jaehyun #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jeong jaehyun #jaehyun au #nct jaehyun #jaehyun angst #nct imagines

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lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

> LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification.

> Letter object : The tamer of the flamboyant flames of passion.

> Todoroki Shouto sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

@mangosnakesandpeaches sent a letter : ❝heyo! its aydudenoway, just moved to my writing account! request number 1/3 : okay okay, so ya know how people always tend to write like, dom shouto and sub reader? what about dom reader and sub shouto. like, damn as much as i like dom shouto, kinda want to see some dom reader nglll. could this be a drabble/imagine and not too too graphic NSFW? i hope this is okay! ahhh okay okay so idk if you started writing my request (dom reader) or not, but could i add onto it real quick? breathless Shouto is all im saying. im so sorryyy for this being so sudden! if you can't add it, thats okay!❞

author’s letter : ❝dear @mangosnakesandpeaches, thank you once more for trusting me with your ideas and letting me express through words the love i have for this man and this man only!! hot take but i do kind of feel you.... like.... shouto is low-key a sub to me (aside from pegging ofc.) anywhoopsies!!! i hope you’ll like this and i tried not to make it nsfw which was a bit confusing but?? nonetheless, i hope you’ll enjoy this promised letter.❞

Genre : Erotic but not explicit smut, fluff. (Please consider that the characters are aged up.) Warnings : Cursing, foreplay, innuendos, sexual deeds. Word count : 1.6K.

After personally handing crushing losses to many villains throughout the entire week, admiring the hint of a shy smile adorning the face of civilians torn by fear as a gleam of hope while they’re being saved, secretly glancing at the newfound scars worn as medals on the abused flesh of your skin when no one is looking, any hero would be mentally and physically drained, as if your body was just the host of vacuity. And rightfully so.

Thus came the ever so needed tradition of self-care with Shouto, this renaissance of an evening was held every Friday night ever since you both graduated from U.A. No word was needed, the sole acknowledged information of today’s date was enough for the both of you to understand that today had your name as a synonymous of self-care written all over it.

This context explains why you found yourself enveloped in Shouto’s embrace, a physical testimony of just how much he loved and cherished your presence, if you will. These oh so special Friday nights also drew a contrast with your everyday life as heroes, it was also the perfect opportunity to say (or paradoxically declare in a silent manner) just how much your presence was needed to one another as the cons of being a pro-hero weighed on your mind like the sword of Damocles. To put it more harshly, the inevitable curse of never knowing if the day you were bound to spend together would be the last represented said cons.

His arms found shelter on the area above your hipbones, and every time he would let his genetically given large palms roam on this area, he would always wonder if said area had been carved to fit perfectly the form of his hands— Shouto liked to think that perhaps this was yet another sign that you were meant to be, he always tried to find poetic parallels everywhere.

His thumbs were brushing invisible shapes on the flesh of your hips left bare by the intervention of Shouto’s hands, these brushes were anything but calculated, yes, they did respect a certain common pattern— but each time they felt similar, they always felt new at once. The semi-random nature of his gestures were the living proof that the documentary being played on the TV was semi-interesting as well.

You, on the other one hand, were sheltered in Shouto’s warm and welcoming embrace, your head fit right in the crook of his neck, and as per usual, Todoroki found yet again another poetic parallel drawn by your jointed souls. Nonetheless, if Shouto’s stare was focused on the succession of bright lights radiating off of the TV, yours was laying on the personification of your source of happiness— your boyfriend himself. After all, wasn’t staring at him way more interesting than some documentary being played? Nothing could compare to some well-deserved ‘staring at Shouto session’, but said sessions came with the slight danger of being caught, oh well…

« Love, I believe you’re doing it again. » Shouto blurted out which made you unconsciously flinch in response.

« Doing what exactly, mhm? » Oh, the fake tone of innocence could have been heard from miles away, and it sure as hell didn’t go unknown under Shouto’s radar.

« You know what I’m hinting at— staring. » But this time, it was his turn to stare at you, it was a mutual game now.

« You’re saying that as if staring at you was illegal, I mean, looking this hot should totally be considered illegal. » Shouto’s blood rushed under your newly left comment, causing his cheeks to adopt a rosy tone.

« Y/N, I’m a pro-hero, I’m not quite sure I can be considered as a villain… Is looking a certain way truly illegal? Should I change something about my appearance? » His heterochromatic eyes found yours, and a certain desire for reassurance chimed in the way.

« Shouto, baby— of course not! You’re perfect the way you are, I was only messing around, you know? » His desire for reassurance fades away and instead, you are met with a gleam of content as you continue :

« What I meant to say was… You’re so handsome, so out of this world… » Each word leaving your lips and connecting to his eardrums was accompanied with the fitting gestures to emphasize just a bit more the comforting undertone of your speech. It all began with a swift shift of position— you were now sitting on Shouto’s lap, a crucial position which guaranteed you the upper hand of physical exchanges.

« You’re divine, Shouto… » The longer your eyes met his, the more you were secretly convinced that he was indeed out of this world, thus, you underlined this statement by tracing an invisible line from the corner of his lips to his jawline under his intrigued facial expression. An intrigued expression, perhaps, but he was begging to hear more.

« You’re have all the qualities one could dream of, don’t you? » This rhetorical question was signed with the manifestation of the presence of your lips upon the flesh of his neck, Shouto let out a gasp he ignored he was holding and tilted his head to give you more room to play with as an answer, longing for the next lines of your tirade. Instead, the soft pressures left by the pecks were replaced with biting motions, and interchanged with sucking motions at times. This newfound balance of pleasure on Shouto’s newly bruised skin was the cause of a chain reaction— first, his lips parted as if he was gasping for oxygen, he didn’t need it, it was more like a precautious deed than a clear remedy to something he needed; then, his lids closed shut, in anticipation of the bliss which was bound to course every inch of his body; eventually, a deadly sin named gluttony got the best of him and encouraged him to let his palms wander on your derrière. A bold action quickly reprimanded by a quick slapping motions on the back of his hands.

« No touching, got it? Keep your hands to yourself and maybe, just maybe I’ll reward you. » A sentence so embedded with delicious sin which became amplified under the spell of your whispers, right against the shell of his ears. There was no vocal response on his end, only a line of chills from the back of his neck to the bottom of his spine, sure, it wasn’t vocal, but it was such a sweet way to respond to the temptation.

This comment would be stating the obvious but you had the monopoly of the game, you controlled the fate of the protagonists and bent the rules your way— some would call it cheating, you’d call it having the world at your feet. An adventurous hand traveled underneath the fabric of Shouto’s shirt and, on its journey, felt the various kinds of reliefs sculpted on his body. The rock hard sensation of his abdomen against the soft flesh of your palm was one of the sweetest contrasts. Your hand followed a vertical path— first, a journey near his pectoral muscles, and a tragic fall to his growing bulge right beneath you, you couldn’t help but bow your lips into a grin which echoed to a thousand of hidden desires and beyond while Todoroki looked at you with pleading eyes.

« Aren’t you such a good boy to me? You did as I said, baby, keep going for me, yeah? » Shouto knew that the way you would pronounce each individual word was a hint to what was bound to happen, and the precise manner you moaned « good boy » near his eardrum was just a mere indicator amongst a myriad of them that you would not give up on your iron hold any time soon. Your lips eventually met his once more in a heated exchange, the advantage of the height played in your favor to assert dominance and set the done of the secret ballet between your tongues. Meanwhile, your palm was dangerously stroking the oh so growing bulge in Shouto’s underwear— and when your tongue would twist in a clockwise direction, your hand would do the opposite and vice-versa.

Shouto could feel you through all his senses— and although his lids were shut closed, this couldn’t prevent him from picturing your frame towering over him, he would always remember everything about you, even the most trivial details anyway. The gluttony in him cursed at him and screamed to touch you, but he knew better than to fall under the spell of his temptations. If he couldn’t manifest his pleasure physically, he could still do it orally— and thus a silent melody resonated in your mouth at the contact of your tongue with his. Said melody ended in the crescendo of the volume of his uneven breaths after breaking your kiss due to the lack of oxygen.

His cheeks were crimson red, his mouth was set agape to let fresh air fill his lungs again, his eyes echoed nothing but an irresistible paradox of pleading and will to continue further, his head felt dizzy under your sweet toxins which had just penetrated his mind… He was so addicted to you.

You let a smirk grow on your face in response to the aftermath of your antics, knowing very well that this was just a way to foreshadow what was bound to happen : « You’ve been so good to me, pretty boy, so, so good. Guess who’s going to have his reward now, baby? »

He knew he was going to get his reward, but at what cost?

#shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shouto todoroki #todoroki

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butter3drainbows · 4 years

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La squadra brainrot and my endless love for children and romantic comedies got me thinking. So imagine this, single dad squadra falling in love with their child's kindergarten teacher 🥺

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️✨ My fav F/Os as D-D-daddies??

Get ready for some UwU scenarios with La Squadra Dream Daddies asdgf

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Oooh ♥️♥️♥️ Melone would be the dad that tries to be around the school whenever his work schedule allows it and is known as the parent who announces his presence loudly from the entrance 😂 Melone's attraction for his kid's teacher is poorly hidden with him visibly perking up whenever they bring his child to him. Every day he would take their hands, look them in the eye and earnestly thank them for taking such good care of his child when he is away. His child is really talkative and will have nothing but good things to say about their teacher when Melone asks them about their day. In the middle of his kid's excited recounting of their day, the child will share how they wish that their teacher would always be around the house and that they should marry their papa right away because he really reaaaally likes them. Melone would be thrown off the loop at being outed so suddenly but will be given hope when his child's teacher laugh and say, "Well it's a good thing we're both single then aren't we?"

I always like to imagine Risotto having a daughter that easily cries 😂. Idk, just the thought of an intimidating tank of a man crouching in front of his tiny daughter while rubbing her tears away with his thumbs or letting her hiccup over his shoulders makes my heart howl like there's no tomorrow 😭💖💖 Her teacher will follow Risotto's example and let them sob into their shoulders one rainy afternoon, swaying her from side to side and reassuring them that her daddy is on his way to pick her up soon and was just probably late because of the rain. Seeing his daughter quickly be soothed by their nurturing personality has Risotto's attraction for them increase two-fold. He knew then and there that he wanted them to be a part of his and his daughter's lives.

Illuso will be the dad who finds himself confiding his troubles as a single dad to his kid's teacher and while he sometimes feels like he's being such a burden by sharing his problems, the teacher always reassures him that it is absolutely ok and even encourages him to talk about it with them if he's comfortable enough to share more. The fact that his kid absolutely loves them was just a bonus. They were perfect. They made it so easy for Illuso to fall head over heels with their patience, empathy and kind smile. He's never felt such warmth from his former lover before and for them to provide it to him so selflessly makes him yearn for something more after being alone for so long.

Pesci's child is a born trouble-maker and stories of their antics are something that both he and the teacher would have in common to talk and laugh about during PTAs or in afternoons when Pesci would allow his kid to play longer in the playground after kindergarten hours. They will be quick to give him reassurance, even scold him when he feels like he's not doing enough for his kid to be a well-rounded person. Every kind word that leaves their lips is a strike to the heart for Pesci. They're so incredibly nice to him, who wouldn't fall in love with someone like them?

In Formaggio's case, he would fall in love with them the moment he lays their eyes on them. They look so much like his late lover it almost makes him believe that they were still alive. It was hard for him to keep himself away with the memory of his late beloved flashing with their every move when he observes them from afar. Their personalities can not be any more different though, and that alone snaps Formaggio out from his delusions that his late lover wil everl come back to him. He was glad he met them though. He can finally let go of the pain eating away inside him from losing the love of his life.

For Ghiaccio it all begins with his grandmother's recipe for her special almond cookies. He had his son take some as snacks to school and had apparently shared some to his teacher. His teacher loved the cookies and asked Ghiacco's son if his dad was open to sharing his recipe with them. Ghiacco was hesitant at first saying, "I'm not sharing your nonna's amaretti recipe just like that" but had a change of heart when his kid handed him a handwritten authentic recipe for Mustazzoli with a note at the bottom that says, "Perhaps a trade then?". And so began their quiet correspondence of shared recipes and personalized notes behind detailed instructions and drawn directions for where to get the best produce.Like Melone's kid, Ghiacco's feelings for the teacher will also be unceromoniously revealed by his son, but this time in the form of a drawing depicting him and his son's teacher sending love letters, as the child would call it, with little Ghiacco as the messenger of love. "Would you like to have dinner sometime?" read Ghiaccio on the latest shared note given to him by his son. He quickly looked at the wide-eyed child suspiciously, knowing how he may have had a hand in this sudden turn of events being how smart he is for his age. He shuffled through his Olaf bagpack and pulled out a piece of paper that had a number written on it before saying, "I got her telly number so you guys can call each other. Y'know like normal people."

Prosciutto probably didn't realize it but he fell in love with his daughter's teacher the moment he saw them give her a pep talk on her first day of school and actually manage to convince her to have him leave her. His daughter had always been fussy and it takes a lot of patience and time to actually get her settled for her to listen to him. They, however had managed to do this is seconds with their cheerful smile and soft words. The moment he realized he was falling was when this same teacher came up to his car window urgently tapping his window and asking him politely (but with barely concealed fury) to step outside when they caught him "smoking"(but really it was just mint candy that resembled cigarettes lol) in the car with his daughter in it. Prosciutto couldn't even put a word in at the flurry of words that left their pretty mouth. He didn't mind being told off by them though, it was obvious how much they cared for their students with how many times their concern for his daughter's well-being was brought up in their tirade. When he was finally able to explain that the cigarette was in fact candy, he couldn't help but chuckle at their mortified expression and the embarassment that came after. This person was interesting, he decided, he wonders if they were still single.

Gelato fell in love with his daughter's teacher the moment they mistook him as her kidnapper. He appreciates someone who knows how to fight and boy were they good at keeping him immobilized. Only when his daughter started crying to "let his papa go" did they release him from their chokehold. He was sure he was going to bruise from that. The redness on their cheeks and the hurried apologies only added to his attraction for them. How cute.

Sorbet also experiences the same situation as Gelato and will fall in love with the feisty teacher at first sight. He will commend anyone who has the ability to pin him face down on the ground being a professional in MMA himself and will be highly amused that the one person who was able to do so was his kid's innocent-looking kindergarten teacher. Looks to him like his kid is gonna have another person to call mama.

#ButteredThoughts #Asks #OhmyGodthistooktoolongAnon #ImsorryIthoroughlyenjoyedmyselftoomuchatthethought:(((#LaSquadra #RisottoNero #Melone #Ghiaccio #Illuso #Formaggio #Sorbet&Gelato #Pesci #Prosciutto

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nyxi-styx · 4 years

Text

No Air

Fandom: Sanders Sides Ship: M/M, Prinxiety, AKA: Virgil/Roman Words: 2,300 Rating: E for everyone Warnings: hanahaki, body horror? maybe?, blood, difficulty breathing, angst but like... softly. Gently. Tags: unrequited love, but not really, fluff, happy ending, very Princely Roman but also like insecure Roman, Logan and Patton are fatherly and heckin’ concerned Characters: Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, and very briefly, Thomas Sanders A/N: This is my first ever (and maybe only but idk) Sanders Sides fanfic. I hope you all enjoy it. I usually don’t like the hanahaki trope but thanks to a fic by @xpouii, I had an idea that I just needed to get out. So it goes without saying that this was entirely new territory to me both in the hanahaki aspect and the Sanders Sides aspect. Please enjoy! :)

The moment they’d sunk back into the mindscape after discussing the hidden dark sides of Disney films with Thomas, Virgil’s chest felt tight. This wasn’t the typical fearful, anxious tightness he was accustomed to. No, now he was wheezing. Like he couldn’t take in enough air. He sat down on his bed and took a few slow, calculated breaths. It helped some, but it didn’t go away entirely. What was wrong with him? The odd condition seemed to continue to plague Virgil with increasing intensity over the next several months. Each time Thomas summoned him, he kept his words few and his answers brief to avoid gasping in front of him and alerting him to his condition. It wasn’t possible for him to develop severe asthma… right? No. And it wasn’t some standard respiratory illness. Thomas was fine. He felt like he was going crazy. Maybe that was the lack of oxygen to his brain. It seemed that every time Virgil interacted with Roman directly it became harder to breathe. Figures. Of course that pompous idiot is going to be the death of me. The next time Thomas had gathered the four of them for a video, Roman had actually complimented him in front of everyone. Virgil coughed violently and felt something in his mouth. His eyes widened as he closed his lips firmly. It wasn’t bile. It wasn’t saliva. What was it? It filled his mouth and throat, drying both out entirely. Unfortunately, he’d drawn the attention of the other four. “Virge? You okay, buddy,” Thomas asked gently. Virgil nodded and gave a thumbs up gesture before turning his back to the group. He spit whatever was in his mouth into his hand, seeing for the first time that it was a cluster of vibrant red flower petals. He gave a panicked wheeze and immediately sank back into the mindscape away from everyone else. What the hell?! I have to be going crazy. This doesn’t just happen! Flower petals?!

Out of concern, Patton had followed Virgil into the mindscape. “You sure you’re okay there, kiddo?” The father figure reached out and touched Virgil’s shoulder, causing the other to abruptly jerk away from him. It took a moment for Virgil to be able to form the words, the illness making his mouth dry. “Yes,” he snapped at last. “I… I said I’m fine!” Startled, but no less concerned, Patton relented and backed off, returning to Thomas and the others where he was still needed. The flower petals dissolved in Virgil’s hand and he curled up on his bed, pulling his hoodie up as a comfort measure as he continued to struggle to breathe. __

Roman complimented him again and, as if the coughing and flower petals weren’t bad enough, there came a sharp pain. Like hundreds of little needles poking his lungs from the inside out. Virgil was convinced he was going to die. And this was a miserable way to go. How could he even die? He was part of Thomas. Thomas was alive and well… and so were the others. But here he was… miserable every day. The pain and discomfort he was undergoing was clearly visible to everyone else despite his best efforts to hide it. They never pushed his boundaries, however, allowing him space to approach them if he desired.

“Logan, I’m concerned about Virgil,” Patton confided, catching up with the other in the mindscape when neither Roman nor Virgil could hear them.

“Of course you are,” Logan confirmed. “We all are. There is clearly something troubling at hand and either due to his nature or whatever the issue is, he’s hiding his discomfort away from the rest of us. The problem is that without him being willing to open up- unless we are able to see the symptoms for ourselves- we have no way of knowing what it is or how to help him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patton fretted, wringing his hands. “I don’t like it. Can we go check on him? Please. I… I know it may be a long shot. But. He needs our help.” Together, they phased through into Virgil’s room, both expecting to hear a snarky and sharp-tongued “Don’t either of you know how to knock?” but instead they heard more aggressive coughing and arrived just in time to watch Virgil stare in horror at the blood-soaked flower petals in his cupped hands.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Patton exclaimed, causing Virgil to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Oh, kiddo,” he tutted sadly. “I think you’ve got yourself a love sickness. Unrequited love sickness.”

“Wh-what?”

“Specifically, Hanahaki disease,” Logan explained. “It’s a disease caused by unrequited love and pining. Typically, it begins when the patient realizes their affections for another and believes it to be unrequited or one-sided. As it goes unaddressed and untreated, it naturally progresses and worsens. Luckily, you’re not in the final stages yet, though you are in a dire situation. There is hope. The color and/or type of petal can be an indicator of the object of your affections: either their favorite flower or their favorite color. May I?” He approached Virgil tentatively and picked up one of the flower petals, wiping away the blood to confirm that the petal itself was red and not merely stained that way from the blood. “Given that there is blood, I’d guess your lungs and heart may be filled with thorns. These are definitely rose petals, though I think the color alone tells us everything we need to know. I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Roman about this at all?”

Virgil ignored Patton’s soft, wistful gasp and aggressively shook his head. “No,” he wheezed. “No and please… don’t…” He paused to cough. “...don’t tell him. I… I think it’s a… mistake.” He coughed again, letting petals fall to the floor, rosebuds tumbling after them. “We.... don’t get along. It’s… it can’t be.” “You know sometimes when we like someone, we don’t know how to express that. So… we cover up our emotions by… calling them nicknames or… teasing them. It’s not the nicest or healthiest way to express fondness, but it’s very normal,” Patton explained calmly. “So what your… well, anxiety… might be telling you is the two of you not getting along and Roman not liking you, might really just be a normal case of… playground pigtail-pulling.”

“Apt, Patton. Thank you,” Logan complimented. “We can’t force you to do anything, Virgil, and we certainly don’t want to make you emotionally uncomfortable on top of your physical pain and discomfort, but I do believe you should think it over before it’s too late. If Roman returns your feelings, you can be cured. The other options are to die- you can’t- or suffer for the rest of time. And Thomas will notice something is wrong. You can’t perform your basic function and protect him if you’re entirely incapacitated. We will leave you with that and allow you your privacy.” “You know where we are if you need us, Virgil,” Patton assured him. “And… well, we care about you, darn it! So please… do what’s best for yourself.”

No. No, it just couldn’t be the truth. They had to be mistaken. He didn’t love Roman. And even if he did, Roman most certainly didn’t love him back. There would be no cure for this. He would just have to get used to the feeling of sharp thorns digging into his heart and pressing against the insides of his lungs. He curled up and turned The Nightmare Before Christmas on his TV. It was always a comfort. He pulled his hood up, wheezing as he stifled another cough and tried to just focus on the movie. As always, the movie was comforting… until Sally was wandering the town and the lyrics ‘and does he notice/my feelings for him/when will he see/how much he means to me/I think it’s not to be’ caused poor Virgil’s heart to thump painfully against the vine of thorns in his chest. He wheezed again in panic and coughed up more rosebuds, petals and blood. He’d heard this song scores of times. Why now did it seem so significant?

‘And will we ever/end up together/no I think not/it’s never to become/for I am not the one…’ Virgil’s chest tightened again and he couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down his cheeks, carrying black eye shadow with them. Fuck. They were right. Of course, they’re right. He really was in love with Roman. Against his better judgement, against the odds of everything they’d been through together… his heart belonged to the over-the-top, dramatic, pompous… wonderful, bright, creative, uncertain, dazzling… prince.

Virgil drew his legs up to his chest and put his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall freely. He felt hopeless. He was going to be stuck this way forever. Once again, he coughed violently. This time, however, he had to manually remove the large obstruction protruding from his mouth. A full rose blossom. This must have been what Logan said was ‘the final stages’. His breaths became shallower. He constantly felt like he was suffocating, breathing through layers of fabric. And mostly, that was true, thought there was nothing over his face. His own feelings were suffocating him, manifesting in painful roses.

Moving became agony within another day, so Virgil elected to lie down and suffer in relative peace. Each breath was labor and the carpet quickly became littered with discarded rose blossoms and buds that he plucked from his mouth with shaking hands and allowed to tumble to the floor. Eventually, he gave up pulling them away. Another always replaced it within moments.

Patton had been stewing ever since they left Virgil after finding out about his condition. He could no longer sit idly by while someone he cared about was suffering. Virgil could be upset all he wanted, but it was the right thing to do. He had to tell Roman. He was certain the prince returned Virgil’s affections anyway. Determined, he set off to tell Roman, taking a very reluctant Logan along with him to explain. “Roman! You need to save Virgil. He’s got the honey-hockey disease and you’re the only one who can cure him!” “Um, that’s Hanahaki, Patton,” Logan corrected gently, only to be met with a confused look from Roman. He sighed, cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and explained yet again.

“So, what you’re saying is that our grumpy, frumpy little rain cloud is cursed and can only be saved by the kiss of true love from a prince?!” Roman’s face lit up exuberantly at the idea. He was made for this. “A worthy quest. It will be done!”

“Well, not- not really,” Logan de-escalated while Patton shouted, “Exactly!” Logan sighed again, adjusting his glasses with a light air of annoyance. “Your overall idea is not incorrect, Roman, however, it has to be true and genuine romantic love. Unfortunately, friendship is not enough to save him.”

“Worry not,” Roman assured them. “I will save him! With true love’s first kiss!” Valiantly, he strode away from Patton and Logan to go and rescue Virgil; however, as soon as they were out of sight, his knightly facade faded and his insecurity had a vice grip around his stomach. Why? He knew already that Virgil loved him. That much was obvious from the illness Logan and Patton told him of. What if he rejects me anyway? What if he would rather suffer? What if he doesn’t believe me?! He took a moment to himself. He had to put all of that aside. It wasn’t about him. This was bigger than him. Virgil needed his help, consequences be damned.

Roman took a deep breath and pushed on, entering Virgil’s room to find him lying on his back, a large rose blossom grotesquely blooming from his forced open mouth. What a pitiful state to find him in: barely breathing at all, cheeks streaked black from tears redistributing his makeup. The prince approached carefully, reaching deep to find his nerve again. “Virgil,” he called quietly before crouching beside him. As soon as Virgil opened his eyes and made eye contact with Roman, he looked away again, clearly embarrassed at his current state and the fact that Patton had obviously told Roman what was happening.

Undeterred, Roman took Virgil’s hand gently between both of his own. “Oh… my darling raindrop. Such a silly thing to go and get ill over. Of course… of course, I love you too. You are charming in your own strange way. You bring a smile to my face more often than you believe and we make a harmonious and powerful team when needed.” Virgil looked at Roman again, his eyes full of unspoken emotion. Roman smiled at him and softly sang, “For it is plain/as anyone can see... We’re simply meant to be.” He held out the notes on the last two words with a flourish- he couldn’t help himself- and reached up with his free hand, delicately pulling the rose from Virgil’s mouth. He tossed it to the floor and used his thumb to wipe away a trail of blood on the other’s chin. He leaned in and caught Virgil’s lips with his own, softly but earnestly. He kissed him with all of the longing and hidden affection of months past, feeling like he had a lot to make up for. It was his own fault, clearly, that Virgil ended up in such a poorly state to begin with.

The moment Roman pulled away, smiling bright as the sun, Virgil could breathe openly and clearly for the first time in months. The pain of the thorns vanished, no more petals, no more flowers. Only love.

#prinxiety #hanahaki #fluff #fanfic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #mild angst #logan sanders #patton sanders #cw: blood

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maylovexhs · 4 years

Text

everytime -EVER SINCE NEW YORK (Chp. 35)

Author’s Note: Woo-hoo! I passed all my midterms! Finally I could get back to writing. Anyways, this chapter and the next one . . .prepare yourself. I got hit in the feels when I wrote this so idk y’all. BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY - MAY

Catch up on everytime here

November 16, 2019. 2 AM.

*HARRY’S POV*

I’m in love with Y/N.

I am in love with her.

I blinked again, still not believing it.

I am in love with Y/N. It was crazy to think but it was true. As much as I tried, the last hours proved I could not ignore it. At least not anymore.

Ever since I read that paper, my heart won’t stop beating like that. I felt my heart beat from love before but I never felt it like this. It was as if I got punched in the chest and my heart was trying to get back to normal. Instead of a punch, I was hit with the realization that I loved Y/N.

I loved Y/N. I realized it and everything started to make sense. I always felt so drawn to her from the second we met. I never felt like I had to explain myself to her. I could easily trust her and drop my guard around her. I always felt so safe and at home with her. I always got a little jealous at the thought of her with someone else. I always felt she understood me in the ways others couldn’t. More importantly - it felt right.

I turned around in bed.

What the hell was I going to do though? I couldn’t exactly tell her I was in love with her. She was with Ashton and it was clear my time with her passed. It wasn’t 2015 anymore. There’s no way Y/N could think of me in that way now. She moved on. Felix and Adam were proof of that. So was Ashton. But she did like me once. It could happen again . . . could it?

“Screw that bastard!” I heard Rita say from the bathroom. “I’m so much better than her”

“Rita, get down before you slip” I heard Y/N say from the bathroom too.

Nick and I sat on Rita’s bed.

“Oh, how did I get dragged into this?” Nick asked me.

“What do you mean?” I asked him. “It’s Rita. Our friend”

“Yeah, I know it’s Rita” Nick said. “But why did Y/N call me? I have to be at the station in an hour”

Y/N exited the bathroom and quickly shut the door behind her, leaving Rita to her own. I stood up.

“She’s putting up a fight?” I asked her.

“Uh huh” Y/N said, walking to over to Rita’s dresser. “Practically shoved my fingers down her throat to vomit but . . . I need a fresh change of clothes for her”

Y/N started to look through the drawers, picking out some clothes.

“So, she’s fine now?” Nick asked. “You don’t need any help with her anymore?”

“I think I have it under control” Y/N said. “I know what to do”

Nick stood up from the bed.

“Well, if you need me . . .” Nick said. “Don’t call. I have work. Can’t take another sick day because of her”

Y/N nodded. Nick walked out of the bedroom.

“You want to go too?” Y/N asked me.

“A little” I admitted. “But I’ll stay”

“For me or her?” Y/N asked, smirking at me.

I smirked back at her.

“It can’t be both?” I asked her.

“Oh, it could” Y/N said. “But it’s for me, I already told you no.”

“And why not?” I asked her. “What makes you sure you don’t want to?”

“Harry, I’m not going out with you” Y/N said. “I already told you I’m not ready to be in a relationship. And not with someone under twenty”

“Age is just a number” I said. “And if it’s such a big deal, I could just ask you out in a year”

“Don’t waste your time” Y/N said. “We’re friends. That’s it”

I blinked, remembering that day. It was February 2013. Rita just found out her boyfriend cheated on her. She got drunk and Y/N, Nick and I had to help. I asked Y/N a few days before if she wanted to go out on a date with me. Of course, she said no. I asked her again and again for the next few weeks, shamelessly flirting with her. But she said no each time.

I smiled to myself. It was funny. She said she was not ready for a relationship but a few months later, she met Robert. After that, I thought she just made up an excuse not to go out with me. I was a little hurt by that but I moved on. I couldn’t do anything else but move on.

“Your dress is nice” Y/N said, faking a smile at Taylor. “It really suits you”

“Thanks” Taylor said. “Sorry, you didn’t win. I hoped you would”

Y/N shook her head.

“No, I’m happy I didn’t” Y/N said. “You know how these shows are. They’re easily rigged. The producers pick the winners”

“I don’t believe that” Taylor said. “Why would the producers pick me and not you?”

I stood nearby, watching Taylor and Y/N talk. I was secretly waiting to intrude in case things between them were about to go wrong.

“Yeah” Y/N said. “I really don’t get it.”

Y/N looked down.

“Especially when I’m the nice one and you’re the bit-“

I walked up to them.

“Hey, Taylor” I said, cutting Y/N off before Taylor could hear the rest. “Happy you won”

“Oh, thanks Harry” Taylor said to me. “I’m happy you won too. Tell the guys I say hi”

I nodded at her. I looked to Y/N.

“Y/N,” I said. “Why don’t you come dance with me?”

I held my hand out for Y/N to take. She did. I walked away from Taylor, with Y/N following me. Y/N put her hands on my shoulder. I placed my hands on her back.

“I know you said to kill her with kindness but can I just kill her?” Y/N asked me.

I smiled at her.

“I see you came with Ali tonight” I said. “No Robert?”

“We got into a little fight” Y/N told me.

I looked down, smirking.

“We’ll get over it” Y/N said. “I don’t want to talk about it”

Y/N looked over my shoulder. I turned my head, seeing she was looking at Taylor.

“How could you be nice to her?” Y/N asked me.

“Didn’t you see what she said on tv?”

“You mean ‘shut the fuck up?’” I asked her.

“Yes, that . . .” Y/N nodded. “How aren’t you mad?”

“Oh, I am” I said. “A little but . . . I understand it. I hurt her. She gets to be pissed at me”

“Yeah but for nine months after you broke up?” Y/N asked. “She’s twenty-three. Same age as me. You don’t see me getting pissed off at Eddie or Dominic in public”

I sighed.

“What?” Y/N asked me. “Am I missing something? Did something terrible happen between you both that you didn’t tell me about?”

I shook my head at Y/N.

“No, it’s not that” I said.

“What is it, then?” Y/N asked me.

“How did you move on from Eddie?” I asked her. “You dated Dominic right after”

Y/N bit her lip. She looked at me, not saying anything for a moment.

“You don’t feel like you moved on from Taylor?” Y/N asked me.

I shook my head.

“I think I am but every time I meet someone new, there’s this part of me that can’t seem to shake her” I admitted. “I see everyone happily move on but . . .”

“You feel like you can’t?” Y/N asked me.

I nodded.

“It’s normal, H” Y/N said. “You both were in love. That doesn’t go away because you say you’re not anymore”

Y/N let out a little sigh.

“I was still in love with Eddie when I was with Dominic” Y/N said. “I was in pain because I didn’t have Eddie anymore. Dominic was wrong for me for so many reasons but . . . when you’re in pain, you’ll reach for anything that will make you feel better. I still think of Eddie now and then. We were in love. How can’t I?”

I smiled at Y/N.

“Thank you” I said.

Y/N smiled back at me.

“You’ll be alright, H” Y/N told me. “Someday you’ll meet someone new and you will fall madly in love and you have moved on without even realizing”

THUMP.

I felt my heart beat again. I looked down, placing my hand over my heart.

THUMP.

That was after the Video Music Awards. 2013. Y/N was right. I did move on. I fell in love again. Just with the wrong person and at the wrong time.

Oh, why couldn’t I fell in love with Y/N before and not now? There were times I could have but I didn’t. Why did I have to fall in love with her now? What am I supposed to do now? I can’t just tell Y/N and risk my friendship with her. Y/N and I went for a year without talking before and I was not ready to go through that pain again. I couldn’t. I’m not willing to lose Y/N. Not like that again.

“Come on,” I said. “It’s starting to pour. Let’s get inside”

“Oh, fucking relax” Y/N said, drunkly. “I’m used to it”

Not even a second later, there was a flash of lightning in the clouds. There was thunder. It began to rain. Hard.

I took Y/N’s hand dragging her. Y/N refused, standing still.

“Y/N,” I said. “We don’t need to catch a cold”

Y/N smiled at me. She walked up to me. She put her hands on my cheeks, reaching up and kissing me. It took a second to realize she did. I slowly closed my eyes, putting my hands on her waist. Y/N pulled away from me a moment after. I opened my eyes, seeing her pout.

“My stomach hurts” Y/N said.

I smiled at her.

“You have to vomit, don’t you?” I asked her.

Y/N nodded, putting her hand over her mouth. I took her hand, dragging her along.

“Let’s find you a bathroom” I said.

I touched my lips with my fingers. I frowned, not remembering the taste of Y/N’s lips. I placed my hands on my head.

Should I just tell her? If I am really in love with Y/N, it’s not like I could ignore what I feel for her whenever I’m with her. I can’t stay forever in this misery. She would find out one way or another. She always knew when something was wrong from me. Either that or one of my friends told her but . . . Y/N was going to find out eventually. I had to tell her at some point.

Y/N would understand. She had to. If I told her, she would know I didn’t mean to fall in love with her. When she told me years ago, I knew she didn’t mean to fall in love with me. I may have rejected her at first but I ended up giving her a shot. Granted, it was only a month we dated but - I gave her a chance. Would she give me a chance?

I looked at my bedside table. The letter Y/N gave me sat on it.

“You don’t have to worry about Ashton. You always have a special place in my heart. You always did”

THUMP.

I smirked, looking at the letter.

I knew what I had to do.

8:30 PM.

“White is better” Harry said.

I looked in the mirror, fixing the jacket.

“White it is” I said.

I turned around, looking to Jeff and Glenne. I took my phone out of my pocket, looking at the screen. There was no notification. No text from Y/N. I shoved my phone back into my pocket.

I texted Y/N an hour ago. She should have responded by now. She should have been here already. The show was less than thirty minutes away from starting. She said she would make it.

I looked to Jeff and Glenne again.

“Did Y/N text or call you?”

“No” Glenne said. “Last thing I got was a text from her yesterday. Didn’t you say she called you an hour ago?”

“I did” I said. “Just don’t want her to be late”

“Hey, it’s Y/N” Jeff said. “She’ll be here. . . Wait, did you something to her? Is she not coming?”

I shook my head.

“I need to tell her something” I said. “That’s all”

“And you can’t call or text her it?” Glenne asked me.

Of course, I can’t say I love you to Y/N over text or call. Who says those three words the first time to someone like that? I wasn’t going to.

I wanted to tell Y/N straight away. Preferably after the show and alone. But I wanted to tell her as soon as I got the chance.

“Nevermind” I said to Glenne and Jeff.

There was a knock on the dressing room door.

Jeff walked over to the door, opening it. One of the crew members stood in the doorway. He held a small metal bag.

“Mic check” He said.

I took my jacket off, handing it to Harry L.

“I’m all yours” I said, walking over to the crew member.

A few minutes passed as the crew member adjusted the mic on me. We decided to leave the dressing room and wait in the hallway, closer to main stage. The second I left the dressing room, I spotted Y/N down the hall walking towards me. She stopped walking when she saw me. She sighed, smiling at me. I smiled at her.

Y/N turned around, looking confused. She suddenly smiled again when Ashton walked out from the corner of the hallway. I shook my head, walking over to them.

I can do this. I can get Y/N alone after the show and tell her. I can if I just had an excuse to get rid of Ashton for a moment.

“There you are” I said to Y/N. “Where were you? I texted you an hour ago”

“My phone died” Y/N said. “I wanted to call you on Ashton’s phone but you know I’m horrible at remembering phone numbers”

I squinted my eyes at her.

Why was her phone always dying when it involved me?

“I know what you are thinking” Y/N said. “And it’s never on purpose”

“Really?” I asked her. “Because there was that one time-“

“I can vouch her phone did die” Ashton said, standing behind her.

I looked to him. I smiled.

I owed him an apology.

“I’ll take your word” I said to him. “How are you?”

“Alright” Ashton said. “Y/N told me everything between you two are fine now”

“We are” I nodded. “About that . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just being friends with Y/N for so long, I felt a little protective with who she is with”

“And I told H not to worry” Y/N said, nudging me a little. “Because I don’t trust just anyone”

Ashton nodded.

“Don’t worry” Ashton said. “I get it. I felt protective over Y/N too but . . . I’m happy she has you”

I faked a smile at him.

“I’m happy she has you too” I lied.

I looked to Jeff and Glenne down the hall. I looked to Y/N and Ashton.

“You’re coming backstage after the show, right?” I asked Y/N. “Jeff and Glenne always do”

Y/N and Ashton looked to each other. Y/N looked to me.

“We can’t” Y/N said. “I’m taking the train back to Ashton’s apartment after the show. We would love to stay but we don’t want to be caught in rush hour”

“Oh” I said, a little disappointed.

“Is that okay?” Y/N asked me.

“Oh, yeah” I said, forcing myself to smile. “That’s fine”

Yeah, it’s completely fine that I can’t tell you I love you tonight and probably will have to wait another month just to tell you. Yup, that’s more than fine!

“You’re free tomorrow though, right?” Y/N asked me. “We can spend tomorrow together”

“Yeah, sure” I said. “I leave early the next day but that works”

Y/N reached up and kissed me on the cheek. I immediately blushed.

“You’ll kill it tonight” Y/N said. “I’ll shoot you a thumbs up in the audience if you need”

I smiled at her. I nodded.

“See you out there” I told her.

Y/N nodded. She turned around, leaving with Ashton. I watched Y/N blush as Ashton held her hand. My smile fell, seeing Y/N laugh from Ashton.

“Hey, you alright?” I heard Jeff say.

I looked to Jeff, who was standing next to me.

“Yeah” I said. “I’m fine”

I forced myself to smile, looking at Y/N and Ashton disappear down the hallway.

I’m fine.

Just fine.

Later . . .

*Y/N’S POV*

“I am very excited to being doing comedy tonight. But I just want to make it clear to you all, my priority is the music.” Harry said. “It goes music, then comedy”

I watched Harry stand on stage from the balcony seats. Ashton, Jeff and Glenne sat next to me.

“Well, let’s be honest, it’s goes music, fantastic hair, then comedy, then family and friends” Harry said.

The audience laughed. I smiled at him.

“He’s really funny” Ashton whispered to me. “Didn’t expect him to be”

I looked to Ashton.

“He is” I said. “There’s a lot you don’t expect him to be. I still don’t know what to expect”

That was true. As predictable Harry seemed to be, there were times where he completely shocks me. It wasn’t anything major Harry ever did that would shock me. It was more of the little things he did. Like how kind he was to people he never met before, or how he had a way of helping people in ways I couldn’t. Small things like that.

Being friends with Harry for so long, I should be used to seeing him do that but every time he did, it had a strange effect on me. I didn’t know what it was but I respected him more and more each time he did. I was even shocked backstage. I didn’t expect Harry to apologize to Ashton but he did. Harry always knew to do the right thing. It was something I always admired about him but backstage . . . something felt different.

I looked to Ashton and then down to my lap.

Was it guilt? I didn’t exactly tell Ashton all about my history with Harry. I only told me we have been close friends for a long time. I didn’t mention yet that one time Harry and I dated. I didn’t feel at the point yet to mention it to Ashton. I should. Ashton was my boyfriend and it was kind of getting serious between us but . . . I didn’t feel the need to tell him.

I looked to Harry on stage. He was sitting by a piano.

Or maybe I felt guilty for dating Ashton instead of Harry? I knew it was crazy to think since Harry and I have been friends forever and my chance with him passed a long time ago but . . . Sometimes I felt being with Harry was better than everyone else. Harry had that way of making people feel special for doing nothing. I’ve always felt special when I was with him. Maybe I always had this weird feeling because I knew deep down no one could compare to how Harry makes me feel.

I looked to Ashton.

Maybe I had something with Harry I never had with anyone else before.

Ashton looked to me.

“You okay?” Ashton asked me.

I nodded.

“Yeah” I faked a smile at him. “I’m happy to have you”

Ashton smiled at me. He took my hand in his.

“I’m happy I have you too” Ashton said.

I looked down at our hands. I looked up, seeing Harry. I looked back down to my lap.

Ashton. He made me happy. But could he make me happier than Harry did?

#hs fanfiction #hs fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #hs imagine #hs imagines #everytime chapters #everytime HS #harry styles one shot #hs one shot #harry styles au #hs au

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lxveille · 4 years

Note

hope u are ok, please take of urself in this current climate! 💗 do u think u could write some minghao fluff for me? maybe a university au one? it’s totally ok if not though! hope working from home doesn’t become too monotonous for u & u find time for self-care & healing, too. xxx

title: a changewc: ~ 1200warnings: casual mentions of alcohol; the return of svt frat aua/n: this was really the sweetest way someone’s ever requested something from me i think ?? anyway, i don’t know if this is exactly fluff or just a university au meet-fic (is it even meet cute? idk any more i haven’t properly finished writing a thing in ages who knows???)

This party is the worst.

There’s nothing but noise and sweating bodies, flushed from dancing or from alcohol. You only agreed to come because your roommate said she was finally ready to bounce back from her breakup. You should have guessed her idea of moving on would be going to a boisterous ΣΛT party. She may claim to be ‘over’ the heartbreak – but evidently not enough to not want to hook up with a member of her ex’s rival fraternity.

The third time beer spills on you, you’re pretty sure you’re ready to scream.

Somehow, though, nothing comes out of your mouth. All you manage is to hold your hands up and stare down at the wet patch down the front of your shirt.

A look around doesn’t show you who the culprit is, or where your roommate is. Perfect. Maybe you’ll cry instead.

You make the more practical decision to try to find a bathroom where you can try to clean yourself up a bit.

The place is packed. You’re not exactly a regular at parties. Least of a frat parties. It would be a maze even if it were empty. Navigating it is only harder with all the people you have to wiggle through. And Joshua Hong – the quiet kid from one of your literature classes – is standing on top of a couch leading off some chant that’ll make someone else chug their drink. You wonder if maybe this is actually some alternate reality. Do people actually have fun here?

A long line in a narrow hallway signals that you have, in fact, found a bathroom. Except by the look of it, you won’t be getting in any time soon. You come to a stop, contemplating what to do. When you go to take a step back, your shoe sticks just slightly to the floor. With a grimace and a sound of disgust, you head in the direction of the stairs you’d seen earlier.

With the number of people that live in this place, there has to be more than one restroom.

No one stops you from going upstairs, but it still feels like you shouldn’t be here. There’s still the distinct sounds of a party, but they’re all muffled, and suddenly there’s room to breathe. You look at the different doors carefully, and are grateful when you spot one left a crack open with tile flooring showing on the other side.

It isn’t exactly what anyone would call a neat bathroom, but you imagine it must be leagues better than whatever the situation is downstairs.

You look into the mirror and let out a sigh. The beer stain on your shirt is truly unflattering, and you imagine anyone who looked your way would probably assume you did it to yourself. Still, you start with washing your hands and trying to splash water to get off the sticky patch on your arm from an earlier spill before trying to wash your shirt.

Mostly, though, you just end up with even wetter fabric trying to stick to your skin.

“Everything going alright…?”

“No,” you answer. It’s only a moment after that you even fully realize someone has spoken to you. You try not to look surprised when you turn to the doorway. Leaning against the open door is the lanky, dark-haired art major you’ve been trying not to have a crush on this semester. Sally had told you about him after the fifth time she caught you staring at him in the dining hall. You think it’s the strangest thing that he’s here. Handsome, artsy types who spend their lunch risking spilling coffee on their sketchbooks are not the type to suddenly show up at a frat rager, are they? “I mean. Hi.”

Minghao laughs. “Hi,” he echoes. “Anything I can do to help, then?”

“Not unless you have a spare shirt on hand.” You try to sound more upbeat about it than you feel. As if you’re fully capable of laughing it off.

He looks you over and you suddenly wish you hadn’t drawn any attention to your predicament. He nods sympathetically. “Yeah, I can arrange that.”

It must be a joke. The skin above your tenses as you pull a puzzled expression. Then you force a small chuckle. “That’s fine,” you say, and give a casual wave of your hand. As if to say, yes, I’m in on the sarcasm. I can play along.

“I’m serious.” Minghao straightens up. “I promise I do my laundry more often than some of the guys.”

“And, what, you just… bring a spare outfit with you to outings?”

This time he’s the one to pause to gauge the seriousness of your remark. “I mean, my room’s right down the hall. So.”

“You live here?” The astonishment comes out before you can temper it.

Thankfully, Minghao seems to get where it’s coming from, if the way he smiles is anything to judge. “It’s not always like this.” He glances around the bathroom, like there might be some proof lying around. His eyes settle back onto you, and you think you might be hallucinating when you hear him say your name. “…Right?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Sally talks about you in imaging,” he explains before holding out his hand. “I’m Minghao.”

“She does?” Oh, god. Your dread must be evident, because Minghao laughs again. That sound alone could make someone fall head over heels, you’re sure.

“Good things only,” Minghao reassures. “So, do you want something dry to put on?”

So you end up in Minghao’s room. There isn’t much of a stark difference between his half of the room and his roommates. When he catches you staring at one of the paintings propped up on a desk, he tells you someone named Mingyu had painted it one night while drunk and waiting for a food delivery to arrive.

“Black or gray?” he asks you shortly after, as though that was the obvious followup to that anecdote. It’s only once you look to his hands and see him holding too different shirts that you put the pieces together.

“Honestly, anything’s fine,” you reply, “This is already really nice of you.”

He hands you the black one. “Don’t worry about it.” He’s close now, and your nerves feel electrified. The sensation only lasts a moment, though, with how quickly he goes to leave you space to change.

If this whole turn of events wasn’t already odd, it felt surreal to be alone in his room. You quickly pull your shirt off and, shrugging, use a dry patch of it to dab lingering moisture off your skin before slipping on Minghao’s shirt.

With your wet blouse balled up in one hand, you use the other to open his door. Honestly, you had half expected Minghao to have disappeared back into the party. Instead, he’s standing right there in the hallway. And his expression lights up when he spots you.

“Looks good,” he compliments easily. You laugh, and hate to think of how those two words will ring in your head tonight as you try to fall asleep. “So… Can I get you a drink?”

Maybe there is some fun to be had here.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #xu minghao x reader #svt fanfic #svt imagine #the8 scenarios

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

act your age: [6] Dead Girl Walking

Summary: Roger tries to make things right with Ash, but she thinks he’s joking so it doesn’t exactly go well. At first.

Word Count: 2451 | [act your age masterpost]

the heathers: @brian-may-brian-may @marvelismylifffe @whoschantel @peteyparkersbabyy @cosmicsskies @somefanfic-to-love @happy-at-home @youngpastafanmug

A/N: includes an excerpt from Little Beast by Richard Siken.

“Let me in,” Roger demanded, banging hard on Ash’s front door. It’s Oscar who opens it, stands in the way, expression stony and unyielding, intimidating enough that Roger steps back where his fist is raised to knock again.

“I’d fuck off if I was you,” Oscar tells him coldly.

“Oz, this is between me and Ash –“

“She doesn’t want to see you.” And he slams the door in Roger’s face.

“You don’t even know what it’s about!” Roger calls through the door.

“I don’t have to,” Oscar calls back, and there’s the very distinct sound of the door locking, and of Oscar stomping away.

“Fred, I know you’re in there,” Roger calls, desperation seeping into his voice as he leans his head against the pale wood of the door, “can you let me in? Please?”

“This isn’t my house, dear,” Freddie calls back from somewhere beyond the door, a little muffled, a little further away, a little resigned. Roger sighs. Tonight has felt like the turning point in a coming of age movie, a terribly written one, probably produced by MTV or Netflix, but Lucy was right; he had to stop pretending that he didn’t have feelings for Ash. As he let himself into her backyard, he resigned himself to being a cliché for the night.

He’s never actually been in her house, or even in her backyard, sometimes he’s dropped her home after a gig, or after school, but he’s never usually left the car. The house was actually kind of gaudy, and bigger than he had been expecting. He knew her dad had a job up at the university, but he’d never actually paid attention to the title; he must be more than just a professor to afford a house like this.

The backyard is well maintained, spacious and grassy, with a little, wooden deck, overhung by an old tree. There’s several windows facing the back yard, but only one with the lights on and the blinds drawn. Roger thinks about taking a pebble from the edge of the deck, but thinks better of it; if he threw it too hard it could break her window, and he does not need that right now.

[im in your backyard.] He sends. She reads it but doesn’t respond. [ash please let me in so i can explain]

[nothing to explain..] She replies with, but when he looks up at her window, he sees she’s pulled back the curtains enough to peer out at him. When they lock eyes, she scowls and flips him off.

[youre acting like a child] He sends, and looks up at her. She rolls her eyes.

[dude you were fingering another girl like 5 minutes ago idk how you want me to react]

[are you jealous?] He catches sight of Ash’s expression turning to surprise, and then quickly to some sort of anger, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she opens her window, and heads further into her room, and Roger knows with both startling clarity and resignation, that he’s going to have to climb the tree to get to her. But at least she’s letting him in.

It’s easier than he’d assumed it would be, and as he jumps through, praying for a soft landing, he’s surprised when he tumbles onto Ash’s bed, and then onto the floor when he overshoots the mark.

“Jealous of you?” Ash is already on the attack, arms crossed, expression furious, but as Roger rights himself, he cuts her off.

“Jealous of Dom,” he corrects, getting to his feet, and Ash’s mouth snaps shut, and a blush erupts across her cheeks, “and I’m sorry, again.” Roger adds.

“Why would you be sorry?” Ash snaps, and Roger swallows hard, steeling himself for what he was about to admit.

“Because I don’t like Dom half as much as I like you,” he told her, voice clear and earnest, “honest.”

“Get out,” Ash snarled, still blushing, expression furious, “this isn’t fucking funny, Roger, get out of my room, my house, and my fucking life –“

“I’m not lying!” He yelped, which brought the thunder of footsteps up the stairs, and Oscar calling Ash’s name.

“Go away, Oz, I’m fine,” Ash called back, tears in her eyes. As they both hear him retreating, she turns and locks the door, as an extra measure. Roger isn’t quite sure what’s happening as he watches Ash turn and lean against the door, scrubbing her hands over her face.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” She asks finally, voice quiet, “I’m into you, is that what you wanted to hear? I like like you, Roger, I have for a long fucking time, so you pretending to have feelings for me to save our friendship or whatever, it just feels shitty, okay?” With a sigh, she slid down the door until she was sitting, knees drawn up to her chest, not looking at him, “we’re still gonna be friends, you don’t need to do this; I’d really rather you didn’t –“

“I don’t wanna be your fucking friend, Ash, I wanna be your fucking boyfriend! You’re not the only one with feelings here!” Roger throws himself back onto the bed, hands in his hair out of frustration, “I was an idiot tonight, I was drunk on Abby’s spiked punch, and I was thinking with my dick, I’m sorry –“

“Wait...” Ash says, tone gentle and confused, “you’re really not kidding?” And there’s a note of hope in her words that has Roger looking to her, bewildered.

“Not even a little bit,” he confirms, and for the barest moment, it finally seems like they’re both on the same page until Ash stands, scowling.

“Then why were you fingering Dom?!” She hollered.

“Is Roger in there with you?” Oscar calls from downstairs, tone disapproving.

“It’s fine, Oz,” Ash calls back, before turning to Roger, expression demanding and answer, despite Oscar’s squawk of protest from downstairs, and Freddie’s muffled laugh.

“Because I’m an idiot!” Roger answers honestly after a beat, trying to stay quiet, though he couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped him. And finally, there’s a moment of silence, a moment to breathe, and Roger sees Ash shiver. She’s just wearing her button-down short sleeve shirt and red shorts, since he’s pretty sure the jacket she’d been wearing was Oscar’s judging by it’s size, but he moves instinctively to close the window he’d entered through, which had been letting in a cold breeze behind him.

“You are an idiot,” Ash agrees quietly, but she doesn’t sound hostile, and when Roger turns back, she’s walking towards him, arms still crossed, but smiling.

“So you were jealous?” Roger can’t help himself, smirking, and Ash’s nose wrinkles just a little, but she takes a deep breath, uncrossing her arms and stepping into his space.

“Maybe,” she responds coyly, despite her obvious blush. Roger’s hands find her hips, and for the barest moment, she frowns, “you washed your hands, right?” And it’s Roger’s turn to flush scarlet.

“Yes,” he spluttered, “before I even put my pants on.” He was trying to be reassuring, but Ash’s whole expression soured, and Roger made a face as soon as he’d realised what he’d said.

“Just stop talking,” Ash huffed a laugh, resting her hands on his shoulders where he was sitting on the edge of her bed. Roger smirked.

“Make me -“ she cut him off with a kiss. She’s softer than he’d been expecting, which is strange, or maybe it’s that when he thinks of Ash, he thinks she’s all hard edges and sharp smiles, but her kiss is gentle, and tastes mostly of the beer she’d shotgunned, but she’s insistent, her biting gently at his bottom lip before he deepens the kiss. He pulls her closer, pulls her into his lap, and Ash grins as she pulls back for a breath, an expression Roger mirrors –

“Ashley!” It’s Oscar again, sounding rather furious, and Ash’s expression falls.

“Oscar!” She hollers back, climbing off of Roger’s lap and stalking over to her door, annoyed as she unlocks it and wrenches it open. Oscar, on the other side, looks startled by her tone, and his gaze flicks to Roger sitting on her bed, looking a little out of breath, and his expression shifts to something a little unreadable.

“What?” Ash demands. Roger gives a sheepish wave.

“Making sure everything’s okay,” he paused, looking back to Ash, “and there’s some of your friends at the door wondering if Roger’s alive.”

“Very much alive,” Ash tells him, and Oscar tips his head to the side, nodding.

“You guys want anything?” His whole tone has shifted, and Roger’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at how chill he was being all of a sudden. Ash’s whole posture relaxed, however, and she sighed gently.

“If we want anything, I can get it, but thanks,” she adds, and Oscar nods. Before he leaves, he makes an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, telling him to behave like a gentleman, and Ash closes the door on him, locking it again with a huff of laughter.

“Sorry about him,” she says a little sheepishly, turning with a half-smile.

“He was ready to rip my throat out not two minutes ago, what happened?” Roger snorted as she made her way back to him, sitting beside him on the bed.

“He’s protective is all,” Ash explains, and Roger nods a little awkwardly, “dad’s not exactly the parental type,” she adds with a humourless smile. Roger’s not quite sure what to say to this, but he’s saved from responding by Ash reaching over to her bedside table and picking up a remote.

“Did you wanna watch a movie or something?” After a beat, she amends, “I mean, if you wanna head back to the party we can –“

“I think if I head back, Dom’s gonna rip my ball off,” he says, perhaps a little too honestly, though Ash laughs, “which, okay, maybe I deserve but –“

“You’ll be safe here,” Ash assures, resting her hand on his thigh, and Roger gives her a surprisingly fond smile.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” and she leans in, kisses gently at the corner of his mouth. When she goes to pull away, he catches her chin with two fingers, pulling her back for a full kiss, and she hums happily against his lips.

“Netflix and chill?” Roger asks with a smirk as they part, and Ash gives a flushed smile.

“Something like that,” she agrees, and Roger kicks off his shoes, shuffling back on the bed until he was sitting against the headboard, with room beside himself for Ash as she flicks on the TV across from them, sitting on top of her drawers, “you want a drink?” She asks, tossing him the remote to choose what they watch, “we’ve got beer, and fizzy drink, and I think there’s some apple juice, and milk... and water, of course.” She offers a little awkwardly.

“Water would be great,” Roger grins, flicking through the movies available on Netflix, and Ash nods, heading from the room and down the stairs.

Roger hadn’t been paying much attention to Ash’s room earlier, too preoccupied with the girl herself, so he takes the moments he’s given to have a look around. The walls are pink, though he suspects that’s just how they were painted when they moved in, judging by the posters she’s got tacked up everywhere, as if trying to hide the original colour. There’s theatre posters from shows over the past few years, fliers for art shows, and hand drawn poetry reading posters that feature Oscar’s name. The movie posters she’s got up are for strange art films he’s never heard of, mostly in other languages, and there’s pages of books that have been ripped out and stuck to the wall.

The salt lamp on her beside table casts the whole room in a warm, golden glow, which highlights the gold in her green and gold floral bedspread, and he notes the clothes and notebooks and art supplies all over her floor. There’s a half-finished sculpture on her desk that he can’t quite decipher what it’s meant to be, but it’s covered in cling-wrap to keep it moist.

On the wall by her bed, there’s one of Queen’s posters that he knows Freddie designed, which makes Roger smile in a way he hadn’t expected. Beneath that, there’s a polaroid of a poem from a book; most of the words are blurry, apart from a few in sharp relief.

“[...] and all I can do is stand on the curb and say Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

I couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.”

It’s captioned, just below, in what Roger’s come to recognise as Ash’s handwriting, with “R” and the date that tells him it was taken just one week ago. The night Ash had gotten into that fight at Queen’s last gig.

He hears chatter from downstairs, Ash and Freddie and Oscar, but only one set of footsteps after a few minutes, and Ash returns, two mugs in hand. She sets them both down on the bedside table and closes and locks the door.

“What’s this from?” Roger taps at the polaroid of the poetry, and as he asks it, Roger seems to notice the still-healing bruises beneath her eyes and across her nose. Ash’s expression twists into something amusingly embarrassed.

“One of Oz’s poetry books,” she explained, sitting next to him and plucking the polaroid from the wall. After a moment, she settled into his side, staring intently at the polaroid, “felt like the only way I could document a poignant moment in my life.” She chuckled, and passed the picture back to him. Instead of sticking it back up, Roger looks at it again, smiling faintly.

“The fight, right?” And Ash nods in confirmation, “you never did tell me what that was all about.”

“Maybe I will one day,” Ash muses, taking the remote from him and pressing play on Detective Pikachu. Roger doesn’t push, lets her have this as he sticks the polaroid back on the wall beneath his band’s poster.

Before he settles back entirely, however, Roger gently angles Ash’s face so he can lightly kiss the tip of her nose, and her cheek bones where the bruises are fading. Ash doesn’t ask and Roger doesn’t elaborate, but they both kind of just know.

He’s connected enough dots to have somewhat of an idea about what the fight was about, and judging by the polaroid and it’s caption, Ash hadn’t been lying about having feelings for him for a while. Feelings strong enough to fight for.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #queen #BoRhap #borhap imagine #queen imagine #act your age #heathers #heathers related #heathersrelated #the angry lizard writes

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trippydooda · 4 years

Text

,,,idk what to say for myself at this point :^) a preview for a slow burn fic get ready again bois

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San

Rating: blurb is G unless you don’t like cursing

Word Count: 2,040

Jung Wooyoung, in some people’s eyes, has royally screwed up.

Now, there are levels to that statement, and you can really close your eyes and take a pick at this point. Is it when he flunked out of university? Ran away from home? Didn’t take his dog out when he was ten, and so when he beloved Coo shat on the carpet he was scolded for being a terrible dog? Or perhaps it’s where he finds himself now, pinned to a wall in an alleyway while a stranger humps his leg. Well, he’s hesitant to say “stranger”. They met on Tinder (another screw up to pick from), talked a few days and when Wooyoung got sick of masturbating, agreed to dinner. The thing is, he should have been more careful. The thing is, Tinder doesn’t really have a “swipe left on serial killers” options. Not really, anyway.

He has his reservations about sneaking in an alleyway to make out, but desperation and loneliness made him forget reason. So now his Tinder date’s tongue is down his throat, the taste of wine smeared into his conscience at this point, and a reluctant erection growing in his pants. This is, of course, until his date speaks.

“You humans are all so easy to rile up,” his date whispers into his ear, and Wooyoung can actually feel the ferocity in which his dick deflates.

And Wooyoung tries to respond, push back, has the indignant “Excuse me?” in the forefront of his mouth, but that’s before a sharp piercing is driven into his neck. Precisely two piercings. Followed by the feeling not unlike getting his blood drawn. So maybe he realises it a bit too late.

His Tinder is apparently some kind of vampire, and he’s being murdered. And Wooyung being Wooyoung, his last thought as he crumples to the ground is at least he doesn’t have to pay off his student loans anymore.

There are a few things Wooyoung thought being dead entailed. For one, he was pretty sure it didn’t involve being carried away by a stranger (another one, he reminds himself), nor did it involve the distinct feeling of humanly and living sensation of waking up. Yet he blinks all the same, albeit slowly, staring at a ceiling that looks right out of an Italian romance novel. It’s got carved ivory on it in the shape of angels, so Wooyoung is fairly convinced himself at this point he’s dead. Died, whatever.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a soft voice says, and Wooyoung tenses. He doesn’t look away from the ceiling, tries to figure out if it’s too late to pretend he’s still asleep (if dead people did that) when the voice continues, “I was worried you were too far gone.”

And… What? Wooyoung tears his gaze away from the rather pretty ceiling, sitting up to see an even prettier man. He has soft eyes raven black hair. Pale skin, but there’s still a hint of bronze in the undertones. Yet the nagging feeling of being distinctly dead pries at his conscience, so of course the first thing he blurts is, “Are you an angel?”

The man immediately erupts in a laugh that makes Wooyoung flush. He tells himself it’s from embarrassment and not the way the man laughs, like it’s from the back of his throat. It’s too endearing. Far too. “I’m not sure that’s what mortals call me,” he says, and Wooyoung can feel the precise feeling of the flush disappearing.

He lowers his shoulders. Mortals, the pretty man had said. That seems to really prove everything Wooyoung needs to know, so he ends up saying out loud, “So I’m really dead then.” He flops back down on the bed, glares at the ivory angels and tries to will his heart to beat slower. But then it strikes him. His heart… Is beating? Do dead people do that? Man, he wishes he had paid more attention in church.

“I suppose in a sense, yes you are.”

Electing to ignore the hot angel-not-angel, Wooyoung rolls over. He buries his face in the silk of the pillow and pulls the covers up so his head pokes out of a hole like some form of undead burrito. He can hear the man sigh and feels the mattress adjust in the weight of him sitting down, but Wooyoung ignores that too. He feels tears prickling at his eyes and tries to blink them away, but all that serves is to make one fall. And then he feels a hand on his shoulder, which just sends the flood gates open wide. Thankfully Wooyoung has mastered the art of crying silently, but he can still feel the betraying sensation of himself shaking. He hadn’t quite mastered that bit yet.

“I had considered letting you die truly,” the man says, rubbing small circles on Wooyoung’s shoulders. “Your blood was impossibly sweet, it’s hard to get blood like that. But… You had managed to open your eyes, and I just. I couldn’t let it go to waste.”

Wooyoung blinks in confusion. For one, this man is talking rather nonchalantly about Wooyoung’s blood, and in the same breath… Did he compliment him? Still, the man called him dead by all means and so he’s only harbouring a little animosity, so he stays silent. The man sighs, removing his hand. Wooyoung won’t admit he’s a bit sad at it. “I suppose it was a bit selfish of me,” the man explains, “But it’s not like I could have really asked if you wanted it.”

Confusion gets the best of him, so Wooyoung shoots up. “If I wanted what?”

“To be a vampire,” the man replies instantly.

And Wooyoung just stares. The man stares back. It gets a bit awkward, if he’s honest. “A what,” he finally says, presenting it more of a statement rather than a question.

The man (vampire…?) answers anyway, “Yes.”

It doesn’t help. In fact, none of this is really helping Wooyoung so he just nods silently, lifts a finger. “Right, well, your bed is very comfy and the ceiling is pretty, but I’ll just be… Leaving.”

“I wouldn’t leave the room,” the man says as Wooyoung ungracefully untangles himself and nearly falls on the floor. He ignores the warning anyway, stumbling as if he’s hungover as he makes his way to the door.

He can hear the man let out an exasperated sigh behind him as Wooyoung swings the door open. He meant it to be not as dramatic as it turns out to be, what with the door practically cracking the wall with the force in which it slams against it. Under normal circumstances he’d say sorry, but instead he feels like being a petulant child and stomps out into a barely lit hallway. The whole house seems to scream Victorian, he notices, and is apparently too distracted by a rather regal painting of his angel-vampire, slamming into a hard object. As it turns out, when he looks up, “object” really isn’t the right word, as he comes face to face with another stunningly gorgeous man, one with slightly curled silver hair this time (he’s not sure when he started to categorise hot men by their hair colour, but it seems to fit so far). Gorgeous man number two’s eyes are a deep red as he peers down at Wooyoung.

“Well, it seems San wasn’t exaggerating when he spoke of you,” number two says, flashing a smile and… Fangs. Wooyoung would call them sharp canines, only they’re honestly not and he knows this. It doesn’t stop the undignified squeal of terror that erupts from him anyway. “My, what a voice too,” he continues as Wooyoung swings himself around, darting down the hallway.

More tears tug at his eyes and he hates it, hates how confused he is and how gorgeous men aside, he’s not getting any answers. He eventually slips and falls as he now realises he’s running barefoot, and comes crashing to the ground and through another door. Pain radiates through him, particularly on the side of his neck, and when he looks up he can’t help the, “Oh fucking hell” that falls from his lips.

A whole congregation of people stare at him, dressed in everything from what he swears his grandmother wore in her casket to some God awful neon crop top and matching shorts. They all sort of share this awkward blink session before the neon wearing woman comes up to Wooyoung, who is definitely still sitting ass on the ground, and she leans down. Her eyes are a deep red as well, and at least he’s somewhat prepared for when she exposes fangs as well.

“You smell awfully pretty, mortal,” she coos, stroking a clawed finger along Wooyoung’s cheeks.

“I don’t really like girls,” Wooyoung blurts, and the woman just laughs. It’s devoid of any true humour though, especially evident when she cuts into his cheek, drawing blood. Wooyoung is a little glad he still bleeds (he doesn’t think dead people would), but any good feeling is washed away when the woman licks his blood rather enthusiastically off her finger.

What were once red eyes now shift into pitch black, no whites visible, and her fangs protrude more than before when she looks back down. Wooyoung is pretty sure he should get the fuck up even before she snarls, “And to think San would hide such a delicious meal from us.”

So Wooyoung does what he assumes any sane person would do at such a sentence as that, and punches her right in the nose. As she stumbles back and shrieks, Wooyoung springs to his feet with his hands balled up in fists in front of his face, gets ready to run, but someone grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks. He shrieks this time as he’s raised several inches off the ground, and he flails trying to break free of the rather painful grip this person has when he’s twirled around and comes back to face with someone else with black eyes.

“Some beta bitch isn’t going to drink you, allow a nice alpha to take her place,” this one growls and Wooyoung whimpers.

He’s promptly dropped on the ground when another person roundhouse kicks this one in the side, but before Wooyoung hits the floor he’s caught, but when he peers down at another clawed hand he’s pretty sure he’s not saved by any means. “Hands off you filth,” his catcher growls right back, “Something as precious as this one needs to be drank by royalty.”

“Royalty!” The woman from before barks, “I’ve never heard such bullshit before! Unhand the omega and I’ll consider not killing you too.”

Wooyoung doesn’t get much of a chance to ask why in the hell these people are talking about ranks of wolves before the whole room erupts in screams and arguments. He catches some rather unsettling words such as “halfling”, another “omega”, “virgin”, before they all just fall silent. Wooyoung, who was being passed around like some crude game of hot potato, is finally let go in earnest, although the only thing it gifts him is a hard drop on the ground again. His neck pulsates and he brings a hand to it as he swivels around to see why he was finally spared.

It seems two people have rather dramatically entered the room, and Wooyoung sort of hates that he recognises them. It’s Gorgeous Number One and Gorgeous Number Two, and the first looks only a little displeased. Wooyoung isn’t sure how he noticed before, but this man has brilliant red eyes as well. Only they flash to a piercing yellow when he peers down at Wooyoung, who suddenly feels just so small. The second one trails slowly behind, hands in his pockets as he nonchalantly looks around at the room of people who Wooyoung was sure were just arguing at who got to kill him. Nothing is making sense.

He barely notices when the first man kneels down at him, eyes back to a softer shade of red. They stay that way only a moment before they fade now into a more normal looking brown, and he smiles. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea to leave the room.”

#i'm trash tbh #i got inspired because i swear everyone in kpop looks like a vampire #anyway #Woosan #Woosan fic #Jung Wooyoung #Choi San #ATEEZ #ATEEZ fic

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delldarling · 5 years

Note

!!!! Congrats on 100! Any way, could I be selfish and ask for a he/him shapeshifter sort of creature (idk the terminology!). Citrusy mayhaps? “Malleable” or something similar. Either way, you are amazing and I LOVE YOU!

male shifter x gender/body neutral reader500 wordscitrus | kissing, making out

“It wouldn’t ever work for you,” Sketch murmurs, touch soft as he trails his calloused thumb from your parted lips down to your throat. He tilts your head until you’re resting fully against his shoulder, back to his chest. His lips and breath brushing against the shell of your ear are enough to tickle when he whispers, like a secret: “And I’m selfish enough to admit that I’m happy about that.”

“Sketch,” you sigh, mildly exasperated with the conversation. “You sound like-”

He laughs, lips gentle against your skin. The dark hair that he’s currently sporting catches on your eyelashes as he moves, kiss sweet as it brushes against your pulse. “Is it really so bad that I prefer you how you are? You’ve accepted me for me. You don’t mind the fact that I’m… malleable. You’ve always seen through it, seen me.” Sketch’s teeth are sharp points when he presses them into your neck, but as soon as he nips, they’re blunt. Normal. Just human teeth. His swift changes always leave you shuddering, as if there’s some kind of residual energy permeating the air, just shy of tangible.

“You’ve always made it easy,” you explain, but another nip has your eyelids falling closed, distracted by his touch. It's hard to want to think about the conversation when you'd happily let Sketch turn you into a kiss-happy mess. Especially when he's halfway to doing just that already.

"I've made seeing me easy?" He asks incredulously, nails sharp when he begins to drag them down your biceps. They dull the harder he presses, still worried about frightening you off, about his shifting being too much.

You sigh, leaning into the pressure of his hands on your stomach and hips. "Your appearance might change, Sketch," you murmur, turning in his arms until you're face to face. Sketch's lips are parted, and his eyes are hyper focused on your mouth, following your every word. "But you? And your ridiculous taste in jewelry?" His eyes flutter closed, eyebrows drawn together, but he reciprocates when you kiss him, even when a laugh escapes you.

"The first three times I met you, you were wearing those spiral tapers. Your face changed, your height- but your clothing preferences? How you flirted with me?"

Sketch grumbles, hand cradling the back of your neck to keep you kissing him. "Maybe I made it kind of easy," he breathes against your lips, nails and teeth gone sharp again as he carefully pulls you onto his lap. "Still, my malleability won't spread, no matter how much I touch you. No matter how much-" his arms tremble as you nip his jaw, his fingernails reflexively pricking into your skin. He forgets to dull them, too focused on the sensations you bring, in your mouth against his throat- his shifting is a ripple under your lips, jawline smooth, and stubbly, and then smooth again.

"You can touch me all you want then, can't you?" You ask softly, against the shell of his ear.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #shifter x reader #gender neutral reader #d.darling writes #100 followers #ahhh!! i really liked writing sketch #uber goof head over heels shifter #wannabewriter32

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angelsfalling16 · 5 years

Note

ooooh what about a deniall mutual pining but then both being stupid and not picking up on any of the other’s “tells”

A/N: I love deniall, but I don’t know that I love this fic. I tried, but somewhere, it took a turn, and idk if I really fulfilled your request the right way. Also, Baz wasn't supposed to be in this fic, but he kept showing up...

***

“I still don’t know why you spell your eyes a different color. They look just fine as their natural color.” Dev says, crossing his arms as he watches Niall reapply the spell.

“I don’t think anyone actually thinks that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t count.”

“What?” Dev asks, his heart sinking, thinking that he doesn’t matter to Niall.

“You’re my friend. You have to say nice things to me.”

“Not necessarily.” He’s a little relieved that he misunderstood what Niall meant, but he still wishes that he thought differently.. “But I really do think that the brown color is nice.”

Niall sighs, considering Dev’s words for a moment, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Finally, he shakes his head and spells them anyway. Dev doesn’t say anything about it, but Niall can see that he wants to.

“Come on. Let’s go to class.”

Dev nods and follows him out of the room.

After a moment, Baz follows after them, wondering why he needed to come with them when they seem to only have eyes for each other. He’d much rather be making fun of Simon for something and trying to get his attention. It definitely beats watching these two fall for each other and not notice it.

***

“Your hair is messed up. Here, let me help you.”

Dev holds his breath, fighting to keep his eyes open as Niall runs his fingers through his hair to straighten it out.

Baz, who is sitting across from them, raises his eyebrows at the pair. He knows for a fact that there was nothing wrong with Dev’s hair. It also hasn’t escaped his notice that Niall hasn’t been spelling the color of his eyes the past couple of days.

When Baz asked him about it, he explained it off by saying that he didn’t want to waste the magic for something so small, but Baz could see through it. He knows Niall did it for Dev.

Niall leaves his fingers in Dev’s hair for longer than necessary and hopes that Dev won’t notice. He loves the way that the soft strands slip through his fingers, and this is the only chance that he’ll have to touch it.

When he finally removes his hand, Baz watches as they avoid eye contact, both of their cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

***

“Dev,” Baz says again, trying to get the other boy’s attention.

“Sorry,” Dev says, shaking himself and turning back to face him. “What?”

Baz fights not to roll his eyes at him, knowing exactly what was distracting him.

The class has been paired up, working on a new spell, and Baz isn’t sure why Dev and Niall didn’t just decide to pair up together since neither of them can seem to stop watching each other.

Baz wonders whether he should say something about the two of them, but he doesn’t want to push them into something that they aren’t ready for, so he keeps his mouth shut and continues to practice the spell with a distracted Dev.

It isn’t long before Dev stutters out the spell, his eyes once again drawn to Niall’s movements nearby. This time, Niall is watching Dev, too. They exchange warm smiles before turning away from each other, and Dev is still smiling as he tries the spell again.

Baz watches his with annoyance, but really, he’s hoping that they’ll get it together sometime soon and realize how they feel about each other.

***

Dev sits down close to Niall on the lawn, his hand coming to rest on Niall’s arm in the pretense of steady himself. He lets it linger there for a long moment before letting go.

Dev, Niall, and Baz are doing homework on the lawn because it’s a nice day, and they didn’t want to spend it in the library. Baz isn’t sure how much studying they’re going to get done, though, if the oblivious flirting has already begun.

Baz tries to ignore them, but he looks up when Niall, says, “wait.”

His hand rests on Dev’s wrist, pulling his arm to the side so that he can get a better look at what Dev is writing.

Baz watches as Niall’s hand slides just a bit lower until the two of them are practically holding hands, and he can’t believe that neither of them seem to be aware of it, pulling their hands away and returning their work like it was nothing.

He wants to yell at them, make them see what’s happening, but he bites his tongue. They’ll figure it out eventually. (He hopes so anyway.)

There are countless more unnecessary touches between the two of them over the next hour and a lot of flirtatious banter passed between them, and Baz is surprised to see that they actually seem to be working better together today, rather than being too distracted.

***

Baz lets himself into Dev and Niall’s room like he usually does, but what he sees inside is not usual.

“Finally,” Baz says, smiling just the slightest as his two best friends jump apart.

“You’re one to talk,” Dev says, rolling his eyes, blushing as he reaches for Niall’s hand..

“What?”

“When are you going to tell Simon how you feel about him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Baz says before turning and walking out of the room, leaving the happy couple to themselves and thinking that he should probably knock from now on.

#deniall #snowbaz #carry on #rainbow rowell #deniall ficlet #requested fics #my writing

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broadwaycantdie · 5 years

Text

Protests - Newsies (Pride) Month . Day 18

( angst ) + ( javid ) + ( modern-era )

a/n: i know, i know...i’m late, but it just took some time for inspiration to strike and i hope y’all can appreciate that // also i don’t know why i enjoy writing Davey fighting back against his family but idk it’s just something i like so sorry i do it a lot // also also no one reads the background so i took that shit out, it just kinda wastes space :/

warnings: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS

mentions of blood, violence, injury, death, police brutality, etc. and use of slurs, derogatory terms, and cussing

——————————————————————————

“Respect existence or expect resistance!”

“Gay rights are human rights!”

“Silence is violence! We will not stay quiet!”

Davey heard the shouts and chants of protesters on the street. He looked out his window and couldn’t help but smile. These people were fighting for what they wanted and were willing to risk everything to get that. He was inspired by them.

He wasn’t shy to the idea of a protest. He had joined the newsies and helped run the strike against the newspaper industry.

But this was different.

This wasn’t kids fighting against one person.

This was people of all race, ethnicity, religion, age, and situation coming together to fight against people who have no right to hate them. They were fighting for their lives most of the time.

Davey couldn’t stand to just watch.

He wanted to be in that crowd. He wanted to make signs and chant and fight back on all who have wronged him for something he couldn’t change.

But his family would never let him leave. Not after the strike.

Although the strike ended well, that doesn’t mean it was a smooth ride to the top. There were fights, a lot of them. The boys were lucky to come out without a broken bone. Some didn’t even come out at all.

People lost their lives fighting for equal pay.

And Davey—looking out his window to see that people are still fighting for equality—felt like what they did didn’t matter. Of course it mattered, but the fight was far from over. According to the leaders, equality was not a right, but a privilege we had to fight for. Davey couldn’t stand it anymore.

He lost brothers—both blood and not. He temporarily lost mobility in one of his arms. He lost teeth. He lost more blood than healthy. He lost faith in humanity.

But he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop fighting. Not until everyone was equal. And if that meant he would fight for the rest of his life, then so be it.

He packed a bag quietly. He couldn’t have his parents finding out, they already forbid him from fighting any more.

He tried to pick a time he could leave. But his mother almost never left the house. He just had to be quick and sneaky. He didn’t have time to wait.

Davey headed for the door. As soon as he opened it, he saw his father there. He had gotten off early from work.

“Where are you going, David?” His father asked in a stern tone.

Thoughts rushed through his head as his face turned red. He could easily lie and say he was just going to the store. Or he could tell the truth and stand up to his father. He didn’t like to lie, but the truth would’ve been even more painful. Before he could come up with a solid plan, his mouth started moving.

“To stand up for myself.”

That was a good way to put it.

“Excuse me?” His father asked, pushing David back into the house and closing the door behind him.

“You can’t ignore the protesters out there, father. They fight for the same things we did—equality! And the fight is far from over. I can’t just stand around and watch!”

“You can and you will. I will not lose another son. I almost lost you once, David. I can’t take that chance again, not after your brother.“

“But father if you just lis—“

“No, David. You will stay in this house. You have nothing to fight for out there. Those fags just want people to give them attention. They think that’s what God wanted for them. Maybe if they actually picked up the Torah, they could learn something about how it’s supposed to be!”

“But they—“

“Don’t try to defend them, David. You know I’m right. They just want to waste everyone’s time and block up the streets. Serves them right, they’re nothing but glittery street rats anyway. Put them back in the gutter where they belong—”

“STOP IT!”

Davey screamed. He never screamed at his father like that before. But he couldn’t take it.

His body shook. Involuntary tears streamed from his eyes. His working hand covered his ear. He was filled with more anger than sadness. He was done. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out.

He yelled through chokes of tears and voice cracks.

“The people out there are fighting for rights! They want to be treated equally and not be hated for no reason. It’s people like you who they are protesting against! You have no reason to hate them! You actually have every reason to love them. One of them lives in your house. Or at least used to. I can’t stay here anymore if you’re just going to hate and disrespect who I am. I’m going to fight for my rights, and if you have a problem with that, then you are the problem.”

Davey walked back towards the door but his dad grabbed his arm. They looked at each other in the eyes. They had similar looks of sadness and anger but for different reasons.

From the corner of his eye, Davey saw his mother.

She heard the whole thing.

His father looked over and loosened his grip enough for Davey to shake out of it.

He turned his head and walked out the door, slamming it shut as he left.

His father opened it back up to shout but Davey had already run between the crowds of people. He was lost in the group before his father could catch him.

He needed to get to the lodging house as quickly as possible. Hoping to catch the boys before they left for the protest. He remembered Jack saying they were putting their full support and energy into this fight.

God, he loved that. Davey adored how much Jack put into everything. He wanted to fight every battle headfirst. Jack’s determination was admirable and God, did he admire him. He was walking chaos and Davey was drawn to him.

Jack was ready to fight at any second and was prepared to do whatever it took to win. That part scared Davey. He couldn’t lose Jack the same way he lost others. But he knew he couldn’t hold him back either. He just made sure to be by his side no matter what happened.

He got to the lodging house and saw Jack in the main room getting ready to head out.

“Hey, babe! What’re you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave anymore?” Jack asked.

“Well...uh...now I have the opposite problem.”

Jack looked confused, so Davey continued.

“I’m not allowed back.”

Jack’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“I finally stood up to my dad. Told him what he needed to hear. He said the fight didn’t matter and that we were just ‘fags who wanted attention’ and ‘glittery street rats’. Well fuck him, right? Fuck him. I don’t need him.”

Davey smiled through tears. Trying to keep a positive outlook on a situation he didn’t think through. He knew he wanted to leave but he didn’t realize what he’d done until now.

A bit of his heart ached. Although his father didn’t mean anything to him anymore, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. He put food on his table, a roof over his head, clothes on his back. And Davey just left. But he couldn’t think about that now. Every positive thing his father had done came with a negative aspect. Davey was right. He didn’t need him anymore.

Jack walked over and held Davey in a tight hug. A hug that told him he was right and that it would be okay.

He finally felt okay.

The other boys walked into the room after hearing all the noise.

Davey saw their injuries and permanent damage. He also couldn’t help but notice who wasn’t there.

Brothers who had lost their lives to the cause.

Davey cried even harder into the crevice of Jack’s neck. Jack just held him tighter.

After the mini-reunion, it was back to the plan.

Jack explained what they were going to do.

Basically, their plan was to join the protest and make their way to the front, where the real change would happen. They had made signs for whoever wanted one. And after the protest they would all meet back up at the house to make sure everyone was okay incase they got lost.

They made their way out to the crowds and—following Jack’s instruction—made their way all the way to the front. Some of them stayed behind in the safer parts of the crowd and Jack was okay with that.

Jack and Davey—along with other boys—stood right at the front.

Their bodies pushed up against a wall of police trying to push them back with shields.

“We will not stay silent!”

“You can’t deny human rights to humans!”

“We aren’t any different from you!”

Jack lead the chants. He was a born leader and knew how to control a crowd.

Others joined in and more police were called.

From far behind the first row, a rock was thrown, hitting a police officer in the head. From that point, all hell broke loose.

After that it wasn’t a peaceful protest.

It was a riot.

The police began pushing even harder to get the people back, knocking people to the ground for them to be trampled on. Batons were used to bash in heads, and innocent people were beat.

Everyone tried to run from what was happening but cop cars pulled up on every corner and the police were trying to take back control.

Jack and Davey were split up, trying to protect their lives as well as getting away from police.

Davey frantically looked around for Jack. He knew he wouldn’t stop. He just couldn’t bare to lose him. Davey was his only sense of control and he needed it more than ever now.

He was in his sights.

“Jack!” Davey yelled out.

They started to run towards each other but an officer pulled Davey back.

They were arresting everyone they could find in the riots.

“Jack! Help!”

Jack pushed back through the police. Every second he was being grabbed or pushed or beaten. But he couldn’t give up.

If there was one thing he believed in more than a revolution, it was Davey.

Davey pushed back against the police but to no use. The officer beat him down to the ground and continuously kicked him until he stopped fighting. He coughed out blood and shook against the pavement. He officer forced him back up but he wouldn’t move.

Before Davey could react, Jack was there.

Police chased him down through the crowds but the remaining people put up a fight. Not everyone would go down so easy.

Jack threw a punch at the officer beating Davey.

He didn’t care what happened now. He needed to protect who he cared about. And he wasn’t going to stand for being beat for no reason.

He jumped at the officer who quickly threw him to the ground. He tried to beat Jack, but he was too quick. Jack knew his way around a fight and could dodge a punch like no one’s business.

He got up and tried to help Davey while avoiding a beating from the police.

“Let me help him!” Jack shouted at the officer.

He put his hands up and the officer stopped.

“Let me help him and you can take me. No more fighting.”

“No! Jack!” Davey coughed out, his voice barely registering.

Tears ran down his face.

Before the officer could decide. A gunshot rang out.

“NO!” Davey screamed.

Everyone who was left standing ran.

More gunshots filled the air and bodies dropped like flies.

Jack’s knees buckled as he fell to the ground.

He looked down at his chest. He put his fingers over the bleeding hole. More tears came out as his eyes met Davey’s.

“Davey...I-I’m sorry. I...l-love...you.”

Jack fell face down on the ground.

His blood poured out onto the street.

The officer that beat Davey had remorse in his eyes.

He had a job to do, but he couldn’t stand for what was happening. He didn’t want it to end like this. This boy needed medical help. He couldn’t live with the death of a young boy on his conscious. He tried to pick up Davey but he refused.

“Sir! We need to get you help!”

“No! Leave me here to die! Isn’t that what you all want?”

Davey coughed out more blood and tears.

His breathing shallowed and slowly came to a stop.

Another officer came and ushered everyone away. They had to keep up with the job and not be distracted.

The two boys laid there on the street.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

They were supposed to win the fight.

They were supposed to be equally and fairly treated.

They were supposed to be together.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

They weren’t supposed to lose.

They weren’t supposed to make things worse.

They weren’t supposed to die.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

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