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unmaskedagain · 5 years

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Yeah, I’m done

I got in this prompt in November, if I remember right. I didn’t really look at it because… What the hell is a fall out fic?!!! I thought maybe it meant Lila exposed but I’ve done quite a few of those. However, I don’t really think I ever focused on it too much; usually, I stray to all the wonderful things Marinette does without them. This came from someone anonymous so It's not like I can just ask the sender… SO I decided to wing it.

Marinette could honestly say she had waited a very long time for Lila to be exposed as the liar she was. Over a year in fact. A very long fourteen months.

If Marinette was honest with herself, she would also add that she stopped waiting for any reason other than the fact she hated lies about… seven months, three days, and seven hours ago.

Why did she remember that so well?

That was the moment Marinette stopped trying to save everyone. Don’t get her wrong; she was still Ladybug. Ladybug was still a kickass hero. She did her job better than ever before.

However, Marinette decided to take a step back, breathe, and let the chips fall where they may.

Her fellow students, her once friends, had been trapped in the spider web of Lila’s tales; awestruck and utterly hypnotized into believing everything the Italian girl had to say. Even the ones about a girl most had known their entire lives.

A bully, they called her.

A selfish jerk.

A jealous bitch.

Her! Marinette! The girl who had done so much for them; had gone to bat for them more times than she could count, and obviously more times than they could remember.

Slowly, one by one, her friendship with each and every member of the class withered and died until there was nothing left but ashes.

It was then Marinette realized some things weren’t worth saving.

Marinette had no trouble forgiving them; it was who she was. But she promised herself she wouldn’t forget.

And if they could treat her like this, after everything, that she didn’t want to be friends with them anyway. Not now, not ever.

When Marinette stood up and announced her resignation from being Class President at the end of the prior school year, the entire class cheered. Like they did when Chloe was forced out of office. (…That only broke Marinette’s heart a little.)

The bluenette changed her number the day after school officially let out for summer. It wouldn’t matter, she knew. She doubted they’d even realize. Most hadn’t so much as texted her in months. Unless they needed something; a favor.

But Marinette was done with favors. Done with free commissions that no one ever seemed to realize cost her an arm and a leg; the fabric was expensive, art supplies for banners were expensive, designing was time-consuming. She was done with any free babysitting. She was done to bring in free sweets on big test days or when the class had a hard week prior. Marinette was done fundraising for class trips and events Bustier would exclude her from at the behest of the rest of the class for her “poor attitude” and “negative energy”. She was done with planning birthdays, making special presents, when no one in class even bothered to wish her a happy birthday.

And most of all, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was done fighting for people who didn’t fight for her. She had tried for months and months to get them to listen to her and what did she get in return? Deemed a green-eyed Liar! As far as she was concerned Lila and Chloe could have at it; do whatever they wanted.

She didn’t have a single friend in class.

They weren’t her concern anymore.

…

It took about a month into the new school years for the class to really understand that. Lila had originally voted in as class president, and had feigned a few tears while thanking the class for the honor but had declined due to being too busy. So Alya was voted in next.

Alya handled the first two birthdays, Ivan’s and Alix’s, really well; she decorated their desks, gave them a birthday card. However, the usual tray of baked goods that were usually brought in for every birthday never showed.

When Alya inquired if Bustier had forgotten to order the cupcakes, the teacher had looked confused.

Marinette tried not to smirk as she sat in the back of the class, pretending to look over her sketchbook.

“I’ve never ordered any before,” Bustier said. “Marinette always did. She was class president. It was her job.”

The two looked back at Marinette; expectant looks on their faces.

The Asian girl snorted. It was never the class president’s job. Chloe never did it in all the years she ruled the class with an iron fist. Marinette had done it because she had been their friend. And she didn’t order them. She bought the ingredients and made them herself.

“It’s the job for the new class president,” Marinette corrected and watched Alya’s face fall. Normally, at that point, Alya would try to ask Marinette for a favor; for Marinette to do it instead.

However, the glasses-wearing girl had taken to ignoring her ex-bestie as much as she could.

“Fine!” Alya huffed. “I’ll do it myself.”

The next thing the class realized had changed was when Bustier announced, “Maybe it’s time we start planning for any class field trips?”

Alya had nodded earnestly, and started making outrageous plans for all the trips the class could take; one to Paris Disney world, another to England, New York, L.A, and so many other very costly ideas.

Ideas, when Marinette was Class president, she would’ve quickly shot down as being impractical, expensive, dangerous, impossible, and any whatever other reason she could think of so the class wouldn’t get their hopes up.

Alya did no such thing.

Marinette just shook her head, and let her ex-friend dig her own grave.

The announcement happened in the morning. Alya had stayed behind when the bell rang for lunch to talk to the teacher and had blatantly glared at Marinette as she said so

And Marinette knew exactly what Alya was planning on talking to Bustier about.

Sure enough, at the end of the school day, Bustier had made another announcement; in front of the entire class.

Marinette really hated how unprofessional the teacher was.

Bustier made it clear that, once again, Marinette was excluded from the class trips that year until her behavior changed. This caused half the class, specifically Lila and Alya, to send her smug looks.

Marinette had nodded, “I understand, Miss Bustier. I can’t say it won’t be a relief not to have to help fundraiser.” The smug looks didn’t entirely disappear but a few faces looked confused instead as if they didn’t realize that meant Marinette wouldn’t help. “I always hated all the planning it took,” And doing all the work, she didn’t add. “Fundraiser after fundraiser. Coming up with the budget, making reservations, clearing it with the school board, clearing it with the parents, getting chaperones, actually raising the money.” She gave a fake sad sigh. “Oh well. Hope you guys have a blast though.”

Then it came time to plan for the first fundraiser. A bake sale.

Marinette had nearly fallen out of her chair laughing when Alya brought it up. Because the bluenette had always hated doing bake sales as she was the only one who ever brought in any baked goods. It was like the entire class thought that just because Marinette lived in a bakery it would be easy for her to get all the food needed.

It wasn’t. She made most of it herself and bought the rest with her own money.

“So who’s going to bring what?” Alya asked. She looked straight at Marinette and seemed to wat for the bluenette to speak. Only for Marinette to raise an eyebrow as if daring her to ask. Alya looked surprised for a moment before she seemed to remember that Marinette wasn’t going to help out. “We’ll make a list.”

No one said a word.

Marinette leaned back in her seat, with a smirk on her face. Alya had said they needed to raise at least $2,000 for the bakery. A highly unrealistic goal. Marinette had only ever raised $423 from a bake sale before.

“I can bring in cookies,” Alya offered once the silence and confused looks continued. “Anyone else? Nino?” She asked her boyfriend.

Nino’s eyes went wide, “Uh, I usually just play the music.” Alya glared at him. “But my mom has a killer blondie recipe. I can ask her to make some.”

Alya nodded, “Sweet. Rose?” And then, one by one, Alya called on each member of the class to see what she could force them to bring.

Even though all but one person in the class promised to bring something; it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a very big class. Theirs were the smallest in the entire school which was why new kids always got stuffed with them. In addition, flyers and a banner still needed to be made to promote the fundraiser.

It was clear as she looked at the list that Alya knew they were in trouble. And again, her eyes went to Marinette, a little bit more pleading now. Marinette just shook her head and started sketching a new dress.

She was done with always coming to the rescue.

Marinette didn’t go the bake sale. However, she heard about how much of a disaster it was from Aurore, her new friend from Mendeleiev’s class.

Half the food was burnt and overpriced. The flyers were terrible. And then it rained halfway through.

Suffice to say, the fundraiser was a bust.

And so were the fundraisers that came after it. Never once did the class meet their goals; though admittedly, their goals were never realistic, to begin with.

Marinette knew for certain by December that there was no way the class was taking any of the “oh so amazing trips, and it’s such a pity you can’t go, Marinette” they had planned. Or any good trip for that matter.

It took months for the school board to approve big trips; weeks to approve small ones. Paperwork needed to be filed with detailed plans ready to present. If a big trip got approved, and then for some reason, they couldn’t go and decided to do a smaller trip instead, new Paperwork would need to be filled out. The new trip would need to be approved. It wasn’t like Bustier could take the class somewhere without permission. And if it wasn’t done in time, there would be no trip.

In late October, Marinette posted a flyer on the class board, and around the school, promoting her new website. It got curious glances but only Adrien asked about it.

Adrien, who was neither enemy nor friend, but a neutral party who refused to get involved. His version of the high road, Marinette guessed.

“What’s that?” He asked. “You starting your own business?”

Marinette nodded, “MDC designs. I designed a bunch of clothes over the summer and got a few friends to model them; Aurore, Marc, Luka,” Juleka looked up at the mention of her brother “Kagami, Ondine, Claude Mireille; and a bunch of girls from the fashion club. People can choose the premade designs already promoted on the site and I can send it to them in their size. Or they can contact me for a custom piece; dresses, scarfs, nearly anything really. That’s a lot more expensive, though. Not at much as it would’ve been, say last year, but now that I’ve stopped doing free commissions, I could lower the price.” She said the last sentence louder than polite but she wanted the entire class to hear.

No one in class blinked twice at her statement. However, Marinette knew they would.

Adrien nodded happily, “Cool, that’s kind of what my dad did in the late 90s when he was starting out. Computers were like barely a thing he said.”

Marinette couldn’t picture a time without computers or her smartphone and couldn’t imagine a life without the internet. She shivered at the thought. “Aurore’s become really well known as an Instagram model. I gave her a few outfits in exchange for her promoting my stuff. She even got a few of her model friends to promote my clothes as well. It’s going really well. If the trend continues; I was thinking of doing a live, online, runway show. I’ve already been scouting places.”

That got some envious looks. Whether it was because Marinette was doing so well or because others would be used as her model, she didn’t know. She didn’t care.

Marinette was done caring about every stupid little thing.

The blond just nodded with enthusiasm, “You’re a great designer. I’m sure you’ll be a hit in no time.

“Hopefully, rather than later,” Marinette smiled. “It’ll go even better when Nadja promotes me on her show. I just have to babysit Manon for free for five random days of Nadja’s request that she could request … any time.” It had been a steep price but Marinette had been willing to pay. “She’ll even promote my runway show if I ever have it.”

The first time someone, Mylene, realized just what Marinette had meant when the drama club inquired to her about getting more costumes for the school play and she had no one to turn to. She took one look at commission prices for local tailors for custom pieces and nearly threw up. Marinette’s website, while still expensive, was a much better deal. Still, Mylene couldn’t afford it.

Nino needed a gift for his mom and remembered how much she loved the scarf he got her last year. He thought it was a good idea to get her something similar. But then he remembered Marinette had made the scarf. And Alya would kill him if he bought anything from Marinette’s website. So Nino settled on something small.

When the school dance came, for the first time the majority of the girls in class would have to buy their own dresses. They came from a store, were cheaply made, and were not nearly as amazing as the ones they previously wore.

All in all, it wasn’t the greatest year for Bustier’s class. Midterms had taken a heavy toll. It tense and everyone was clearly frustrated. So were Marinette’s friends from other classes. So during Lunch, Marinette surprised her table with delicious baked goods as a pick me up. The ones she normally would’ve brought just for her class.

Marinette pretended not to notice the hopeful looks on her classmates faces when she walked by with the iconic light blue Dupain-Cheng bakery box. And ignored the crestfallen looks on their faces when she headed them out to just her friends.

In April, it was clear that the trip to New York had fallen through as they didn’t have enough money. Alya had to rush to get something small approved before the end of the year; a trip to the local amusement park. Marinette didn’t laugh when Alya announced it to the class who looked really bummed all their hard work didn’t pay off. She didn’t even blink twice. It had nothing to do with her after all.

In May, the truth finally came out. It happened on a Thursday.

Lila had forgotten her lunch bag at home. Her mother brought it. Lila’s eyes went wide at seeing her mother and she did everything she could to get her out of the class as soon as possible.

Rose asked Mrs. Rossi, “How the meeting in Achu went?”

To which Lila’s mother replied, “A what now? I’ve never been to Achu.”

Marinette had merely leaned back in her seat to watch the fireworks.

And it was beautiful.

It was an even bet as to who had the bigger meltdown.

Mrs. Rossi: when she learned just how much her daughter had been lying; to her, to the school, to her classmates, and basically everyone she met since moving to Paris. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time and it caused a lot of trouble in the past which was why they had to move to France. Mrs. Rossi was quick to refute any rumors about celebrity meetings, traveling around the world, and ever meeting any royalty. And that Lila had no medical issues whatsoever and didn’t participate in any charity organization.

Lila: she had nearly been Akumatized when her mother started to reveal the truth. Luckily, Ladybug had been nearby to catch the little butterfly. (Marinette had just left to the bathroom, not that anyone had really noticed). The hero refuted ever knowing Lila outside of stopping her akuma forms.

And Finally Alya: who had burst into an angry rant and furious tears at being lied to. It was another near akumatization. Alya had to be physically restrained from attacking Lila once the realization hit her about her blog being discredited for lies.

A lot of the class yelled and made accusations but no reaction was nearly as extreme as the other three. Lila had taken advantage of her classmates for almost two years. They carried her books, remade plans so she could be included, took notes for her, threw parties to celebrate her newest accomplishments.

However, Marinette noted, not one of them mention the friendship they had destroyed because of their belief in Lila. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

The bluenette had long since realized she wasn’t ever as important to her ex-friends she once thought.

The entire class was still angry the next day. Lila didn’t show so vented to each other.

Marinette still sat in the back of the class, content to come up with designs to present to a nice lady who wanted a killer dress to wear to her sister’s wedding, and let the class deal with its own drama.

Unfortunately, some people didn’t get a clue.

“Marinette,” Adrien said brightly. Marinette fought not to look up at the sky and ask god why. “What do you think about the Lila situation?”

“I don’t really care,” The bluenette said. “I was done with the whole thing a while ago.”

Suddenly everyone remembered Marinette was there. Marinette who swore Lila was lying for months. Marinette who they had ostracized and exiled. Marinette who they had ignored. Marinette who had once been their friend.

Rose gasped, her hand over mouth, tears welled up in her eyes, “Marinette! I’m so sorry,” She cried.

“I can’t believe we were so mean to you,” Juleka said.

“Dudette, I had no clue what I was thinking,” Nino said.

More apologies came, each one more heartfelt than the last. Alya had been last. She looked like she had been stabbed from the pain her face. Eventually, the glasses-wearing girl cried, “I’m so sorry girl! I’ve been the worst bestie ever. I should’ve believed you over Lie-La.”

Marinette looked at her classmates, shrugged, and said, “Okay.” Then she went back to looking working.

That was it. However, clearly by the silence that came from the class. They had been expected a bigger reaction. Tears of joy and relief. Happiness to have her friends back. Anything but they got nothing.

Alya frowned, “Didn’t you hear us? We’re sorry. We should’ve trusted you, we know that now. We’ll make it up to you, we promise.”

Marinette sighed but shook her head. “No. Thank you. I don’t need you to make it up to me,” She said. “I don’t want you to make it up to me. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

“But, but…” Rose looked around for help. “We’re friends again.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said brightly. “It can go back to the way it was.”

At that, Marinette put down her pencil. She gave the class a hard look. “Let me make this clear because I have no intention of repeating myself: we are not friends. None of you,” She gave pointed looks to her ex-friends, the longest to Adrien and Alya. “Are my friends. You were mean. You called me names. You spread nasty lies about me because Lila told them to you. You excluded me from all class activities; despite the fact that last year I did the majority of the fundraising, the planning, and the work. You hurt me. Things will not go back to the way they were. I don’t trust you. We are not friends. And we will never be friends again. No amount of apologies will change that.”

Alya went to protest, “Girl, we’re-”

Marinette interrupted her, “Just move on. I have.” Then put her headphones in until Bustier managed to get control back over the class. As far as Marinette was concerned there wasn’t anything left they could say.

…

That didn’t stop them from trying.

No one in the class seemed to believe that Marinette, their everyday Ladybug, wouldn’t forgive them. Lila had been withdrawn from school and no one knew what happened to her. And without Lila’s presence, the class was sure Marinette would have no problem moving on from the drama the Italian girl had caused.

They never even considered the fact that Marinette had never been angry at Lila. She hadn’t been happy at her lies. But she had been furious that her friends had fallen for them so easily, particularly the ones about the bluenette.

“Hey,” Alya said brightly stopping in front of Marinette’s desk the following Monday morning. She thought Marinette just needed the weekend to calm down. “All the girls are planning a slumber party at Rose’s on Friday, you in?”

“No,” Marinette said firmly. “I’m busy,” She offered politely.

And she would be “busy” every time they wanted her to do something.

Too busy to go to all the parties she had been previously excluded from. Her ex-friends still hadn’t realized Marinette had never wanted to go after she realized they just weren’t worth it anymore.

Too busy hanging out after school. Or go to Adrien’s photoshoot. (Alya just wouldn’t understand that Marinette was so done with her crush on Adrien.)

Too busy to help with the school play.

Too busy to watch Kitty Section preform.

Too busy to go play video games.

Every day, every moment they could; her ex-friends were trying to pressure her into being their friend again, hanging out with them again, forgiving them. They just wouldn’t take no for answer.

Honestly, Marinette was just done with their antics.

Particularly the incessant need to make sure Marinette was on the “big” class trip; as if they believed if Marinette went it would make up for everything.

Marinette made it clear she really, truly was way too busy to go some random beach trip. She really did have plans and she couldn’t back out of them. They were too important.

But her ex-friends kept bringing it up, with Alya leading the charge, over and over again. They didn’t care what Marinette wanted at all. And once more, Marinette was reminded why she was glad they weren’t her friends anymore.

Eventually, once again, they got the teacher involved. Bustier had so “nicely” announced in front of the class, that Marinette was more than welcome to go on the class trip with them and that they looked forward to coming along.

And as far as Marinette was concerned that was the final straw.

“I’m good,” Marinette said. “Seeing as my behavior hasn’t changed. I think its best I don’t go; right Miss Bustier? That was what you said? And obviously to you thought it was a good reason.” She reminded the teacher. Bustier flushed a pink color at being called out. “It wasn’t like you, an adult woman, caved into peer pressure from your students and a childish need to avoid confrontational situations.”

Silence from the class. No one had expected Marinette to react as she did. In their minds, she was still their “everyday ladybug”; the nicest and sweetest girl in school. The idea made Marinette scoff. Where was that mindset when Lila got ahold of them?

The bluenette glared at the teacher, the woman who should’ve never let the Lila issue get as far as it did; never let Marinette be ostracized and bullied. “I mean, you called me out in front of the entire class to tell me I couldn’t go. Not the first or last time, by the way, you did something so… crass. Not the most sensitive way either.”

“Well, I think-” Bustier had tried to say but was cut off.

Marinette wasn’t going to let her have a word in, “I’m so glad I started to record lesson last year, for you know notes? You know after that expulsion incident? I worried about what I’d miss. It made it so easy for my parents to understand why I was excluded from class events because they could watch it. I mean I have months and months of video evidence they just… loved. They got to see exactly what this class is like on an everyday basis, and exactly how you run it. So did our lawyer, who seemed rather interested in my school. It turns out that physically harming, via tripping or pushing them into walls as you walked by just hard enough for it to hurt. Or destroying private property; like a phone, spilling water on a laptop, or sketchbooks filled with work for commissions. Or verbally bullying someone. Or sending horrible texts daily, all of which I saved and printed out, can be considered harassment. Which is illegal and the perpetrators involved could face criminal charges as well as be sued for the destruction of said property and for emotional ramifications I suffered. But a teacher would never let anything like that happen in front of them so it wouldn’t be on any of the videos I have, right?”

She let the words fill the room. Bustier had paled dramatically and looked ready to faint. The rest of the students who had taken to bullying Marinette instead of ignoring her looked sick. Marinette had no sympathy for any of them. They got themselves into this mess.

Marinette shook her head, “I asked them to chill for now because you’re the teacher. You did what you did for a reason. It’s not like you’d shirk your responsibilities on the class representative. Or force some poor student to be a model example and mediator for all class issues. Or god forbid, cater to the bullies and blame the victim; allow one of your students to be verbally and physically harassed daily. The videos I have surely would never show anything like that; let alone prove it in a court of law… No matter what my lawyer says. But again, you don’t have to tell me why.” Marinette already knew why after all. And she was so done with Bustier. “You had to have had a good reason. Otherwise, I would have to take this to the school board. And a judge in a court of law. And see if you can explain it to them. Maybe I’ll even send them to my mom’s best friend Nadja so she can put them on her show and the world can see too. And we can find out what everyone thinks of you and your teaching methods.”

The threat was clear to all.

Bustier better back off. Or Marinette would make her back off.

The teacher only had to slip once, and she was done for.

“Enjoy the trip,” The bluenette smiled cheerfully, in a way that reminded them eerily how she used to smile at them when Marinette was still their friend; still their “everyday Ladybug”. But instead of bringing warmth as it used to, all they felt was shivers. “It might our last one altogether. After all, who knows where we’ll all be in September. May be separated into different classes. Or different schools. With the way Damocles expels students with no procedure whatsoever, you never know. Or have a new teacher. We can only guess. I think its best if we just… leave things alone. With the way things are, if you push, you might get pushed back… right off a cliff.”

Marinette was done playing games.

When the class left for their “big” trip, Marinette had finally let out a sigh of relief. Next, she was so transferring to Mendeleiev’s class.

She was done with Bustier’s class.

While the students of Bustier’s class were playing at the beach and plotting their next move to get Marinette to forgive them, Marinette was fulfilling one of her biggest dreams.

The bluenette did have for her online runway show. She had spent weeks and weeks promoting it on her website. Aurore, some of the fashion club, and other rising Instagram models walked the runway in Marinette’s new line. Jagged hosted. It hadn’t been Marinette’s idea, but Jagged complained to Penny when Marinette turned him down the first time and Penny talked to Marinette.

Chloe made a deal to her mother to watch the runaway show to review in exchange for Chloe being one of the models. Again, Marinette expressed concerns but couldn’t turn down the chance of Style Queen seeing her clothes.

Marc helped designed the runway; to give it an artistic, futuristic, edgy look. Claude brought in a smoke machine and his laser machine that the used for his short films to make everything really pop.

Clara Nightingale let Marinette use her music as the runway music. The superstar performed a song during the show and promoted it on her social media feed in exchange for a few custom pieces and Marinette getting Ladybug to do some selfies with her. (Tikki had to be bribed with an entire tray of chocolate chip cookies, and to be left alone with the TV in Marinette’s room for the night; something about finally catching up on Game of Thrones.) Marinette was quick to agree. Though Jagged had been in a huff until Marinette agreed to let him close out the show.

The world took notice, albeit mostly because of Jagged and Clara. But Audrey, the Style Queen herself, had raved about how cutting edge it was. She claimed that an underground, exclusive, fashion show was the new big thing in fashion. The clothes were marvelous too. All in all, MDC’s runway was exciting, sophisticated, and fresh, just like her new line.

Not long after Style Queen’s review posted, the orders had come flying in on her website. Everyone who was anyone seemed to NEED to be seen wearing the MDC brand.

Marinette had smiled ear to ear for the rest of the weekend. She looked forward to what the future would bring.

It was a new day.

Which was great because…

Marinette was so done with yesterday.

#ml fic #ml salt fic #ml salt #Marinette deserves better #marinette dupain cheng #class salt #alya salt #A bit of Adrien salt

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sevlgi · 4 years

Text

the florist

requested: no

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu

warnings: death

synopsis: When you find a beautiful death sentence clustered in your lungs, you can only visit the legendary florist. But is JiU herself as strong as she seems?

a/n: hiatus who? we don’t know her 🤡 i was actually gonna post this when it struck 12 on december 1st for me, but tumblr’s telling me it’s already december, so here we go!

word count: 3.3k

In all the years that the Hanahaki Disease had existed, there had never been a cure. And on the day that you coughed up the first blood-stained carnation, it became certain that you weren’t about to be the one to break the record.

You considered yourself to be decently cautious about the disease. After all, since you were a child, the only love lesson that you had ever been taught was to never, ever, be the first one in love. Your mother drilled that lesson, telling you that love was a poisonous thing to be avoided at all costs until you believed her.

And yet, you were stupid enough to allow her to wreck you, to allow yourself to become consumed by her.

It was unexpected, to say the least. Lee Siyeon had been a close friend for years, the two of you meeting during college, and she had been in love with someone else since then. You knew Bora well too, actually, and had always rooted for the two to get together.

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve still held the hope that your love could be returned, but Siyeon despised you with all the might of her soul ever since she had found out about the yellow petals floating in the toilet bowl at midnight. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have faced the sheer mortification of begging Gahyeon for the address of the person who saved her.

“Y/N...” she had hesitated when you asked her. Siyeon’s younger sister was the only person that you knew of who had survived the disease without getting the dreaded surgery, but she was incredibly touchy about the subject. Indeed, you didn’t even know who she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“Please, Gahyeon,” you begged, chasing to maintain eye contact with her. “I can’t die like this. You-- you won’t let me, will you? Not when it’s your sister.”

You didn’t want to guilt-trip her like you did, but it worked. Gahyeon texted you an address and a name, the ping noise of the notification sounding more like your saving grace than anything. “You can’t tell anyone else once you’re healed,” she warned. “She’ll know who you are as soon as you say my name.”

To outside eyes, the Love Blossom looked like a normal flower shop. The narrow storefront, sandwiched between a coffee shop and a bookstore, was painted a faint pink and chipped with green on some edges. There were flowers stuffed everywhere you could see-- exploding baskets on the windowsills, colorful wreaths hung everywhere, even a huge L and B made of blooms on the window.

Even when you pushed the door open, it gave no indication of being anything other than a flower shop. The scent of flowers was heavy, some rock song playing from the peppy pink speakers dangling from the ceilings. “Hello?” you called out, hands tightening on the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder. “H-”

Suddenly, you coughed out again and held your sleeve up to prevent any flower petals from fluttering out; the constant itch in your throat only served to make you more anxious to find the florist that Gahyeon had referred you to. “Is anyone there?”

“Hi!” You yelped and jumped back when an invisible door just next to you randomly opened, the shelf concealing it nearly colliding with your face. “Oh, I’m sorry! Were you looking for me?”

The girl who opened the door looked like the literal manifestation of sunshine; her smile took up half her face, the brown of her half-moon eyes seemingly lit from within. She balanced a flowerpot on her hip as she bowed to you in apology, long hair almost sweeping the floor. “Are- are you JiU?”

“Yep!” She moved to set the pot down, cocking her head slightly to take you in. “How can I help you today?”

“I... I’m a friend of Gahyeon,” you explained, watching as the smile on her face lessened slightly in understanding. You fished out the plastic bag from your purse, the almost-dry crimson inside overpowering the yellow petals. “Can you help me?”

The brunette accepted the bag, flashing you another bright smile as she opened the secret door again. “Well, let’s take a look. Follow me, please, and call me Minji.”

The narrow doorway led to what seemed to be her living quarters, or maybe an apothecary; the walls were almost completely covered by the forest-green painted shelves lining them, mismatched books and trinkets filling the spaces. Incredibly detailed drawings were tacked everywhere, a ladder folded behind the hidden door, presumably to access the blank walls up near the ceiling. A loft area was most likely where she slept, though she led you to a large and cluttered desk to examine the flowers you had given her.

“Yellow carnations. These symbol rejection and disdain, you know.”

You winced at the girl’s bluntness, though it wasn’t meant as a jab, still staring at the multitudes of drawings tacked everywhere. “Yeah, I know. Gahyeon told me.”

She smiled at the mention of the younger girl, setting the bag with your blood down to fiddle with a notebook. “I taught her well, then.”

“Taught her?” You watched her shift jars of petals around on the shelves, scribbling something down on a sheet of ironically pink and cutesy paper. “I thought you healed her.”

“Well, the Hanahaki disease doesn’t heal easily,” Minji responded, gesturing for you to follow her into a tiny kitchen area. “It took months, actually, and she spent almost every day in here. She might as well have become an apprentice, with how much I taught her.”

“Months?” Fear rose up in you at that, apparently not affecting the other girl as she hummed. You’d been in one of the later stages for a good couple of months now, though you couldn’t tell which one without visiting a doctor. “Minji, I don’t have months.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, tying the strings of her apron behind her. “Well, are you willing to get the surgery? Spend thousands of dollars and go through such a rigorous process, and then be left with a cold heart and unhealable scars?” At your silence, she chuckled, tying her hair up in a plait. “That’s what I thought.”

You sat on the stool at her kitchen table, watching Minji busy herself at what looked like a stovetop, albeit littered with glass bottles and half-hearted bouquets. “What makes you certain that this’ll work, then? How’d you even learn to help people like me?”

Minji bit down on her lower lip, the dark red color remarkably not transferring onto her pearly teeth. “Well. My mother died from the disease, so I was originally going to study it in school. But I had to help Gahyeon somehow. When she fell in love with someone who’d never love her back... I couldn’t just watch her die.”

Smiling slightly, you watched her scatter the same petals as you had coughed up into a pot, freshly plucked from stems that she threw onto the counter next to her. “What about you? What’s the story behind “rejection and disdain”?” she asked suddenly, smiling prettily. Something about her was a bit ethereal in the kitchen’s LED lighting, though maybe it was the fact that she was literally saving people that doctors couldn’t.

“Ah. I fell in love with Siyeon,” you answered, placing your hand into your chin as you watched her work. “She loves someone else, and I got between them. It’s not her fault.”

Frowning, Minji uncapped a jar that smelled strongly of rose, practically upending it in her pot. “Gahyeon’s sister? Does she know that you’re going to die because of her? I’ve met her before, and I didn’t think she’d be so cruel. ”

You nodded silently at that. The whole reason you were in such a predicament was that you loved Siyeon and she hated you; there was no way you were going to ask her to turn her entire heart on its head just to save you. It was unlikely that she’d want to do so at all, anyway. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” the brunette sighed sympathetically. “Love really hurts sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you smiled drily. “It’s just all too literal for me.”

“Hey, Minji!”

The girl turned from her flowers to wave excitedly at you, her smile painted bubblegum pink this time to match the faded apron she wore. She held trimmers in her hands, clumsy with the thick gloves she wore. “Y/N! Good to see you again, come in?”

“Yeah.” You smiled just seeing the interior of the shop, as decked-out as it had been in your first visit. Instead of the purple theme last week, Minji seemed to have gone with yellows, the peonies and roses tainting the cold air. The apartment, however, looked the same, almost comforting in its maximalism. “I’m done with the vials,” you mentioned, taking the freshly-washed glass bottles out of your bag along with a fresh bag of bloody flowers.

“Did they help?” Minji asked, accepting both with a quiet “thank you”. “Gahyeonie always told me that they taste terrible, but sugar cancels out all the good properties.”

“They aren’t that bad,” you lied, sitting down at the same spot in the kitchen and opening your bag. At her questioning look, you explained, “Oh, I thought I’d bring my laptop this time and keep you company. You said you were bored last time...”

Part of you wished she would turn you away, just so that you wouldn’t become attacked to someone who’d eventually leave you behind too. But she smiled, turning on her stove and hefting the same ceramic pot on as she did the last time. “That’s perfect, Y/N. When you’re done, you can come help package some bouquets for a break, okay?”

You nodded, sighing in content at the smell of flower petals boiling once again in the shop. “Okay. Thanks, Minji.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, turning back to the ingredients that she fiddled with. “No need to thank me at all. How’s Siyeon?”

Shrugging, you swept some papers off the table to place your laptop down. “I don’t really know. She doesn’t talk to me. I only have contact with her through Gahyeon now, but it’s not really like I want to talk to the person killing me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say “killing”,” Minji pouted, teasing you with a long flower stem. “It makes me think that you don’t believe you’ll live.”

“No, I trust you, I--” You stopped in your tracks when you realized that the other girl was joking, rolling your eyes before turning back to your computer. “Real funny, Minji.”

She giggled, placing a mug of coffee on the table beside you. “I like to think I am. You can call me Minji, by the way. Only customers call me Minji.”

Instead of responding, you sipped at your coffee, falling into a comfortable silence once the florist turned back to her stove. With the cool fall sunlight streaming in through the window and the heavenly aroma inside the kitchen, you suddenly thought that you could get used to a scene like this. More than that-- you liked it.

A good 4 weeks passed without incident. Your weekly visits were always filled with musical laughter and pretty grins whirling by in an instant. Minji only looked more beautiful each time, the pain in your chest somehow lessening each time you saw her wave to you with all the enthusiasm that Siyeon lacked. Part of you wondered whether the bitter concoctions that Minji had you drink were the thing at work at all, but you continued to take them, and you continued to improve.

Of course, everything good had to come to an end.

“Y/N,” Minji gasped as she kneeled next to you, hands hovering over your body as you hacked again, red dribbling from your lips to the floor. Your fingers curled weakly around your phone, tears escaping your eyes with how hard you squeezed them shut. “Gahyeon called me, what happened to you?”

With the clusters of carnations fluttering in your lungs with every breath you took, you weren’t able to respond. The other girl seemed to realize that, digging through her bag for something. Before she could take anything out, though, you wheezed for air again, throat swollen to the point of suffocation.

She acted quick, turning you onto your side to let full blossoms slip from between your lips. The yellow blooms were dauntingly bright against the dark wood, almost a serene picture if not for the violent crimson staining the petals. Tipping a vial of golden orange into your mouth, Minji ordered, “Swallow. Come on, you can do it.”

As soon as the poppy syrup was gone, your eyes fluttered shut and you slumped against your arm, breathing rattled but steady. Sighing, the brunette wiped a remaining petal from your lips, sliding her hands below your knees and your neck to pick you up. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

When the sun began shining unbridled through the cracked curtains of your bedroom, you woke from the longest sleep since you started choking at night. Someone had taken the liberty of folding the clothes scattered across your chair, as well as placing your fully charged phone, a purple-colored glass of liquid, and a note by your side.

Y/N,

I have to go back to the shop, but Gahyeon or I’ll stop by later today to bring you some more medicine. Next time, call me first!

xx,

Kim Minji

There was a ridiculous smile on your lips just holding a pink piece of paper imprinted with the girl’s kiss in lipstick, as well as a remarkable lack of flowers in your lungs. Indeed, you couldn’t taste copper coating your tongue, or feel petals stuck to the back of your throat, and it felt even better than you had remembered.

When you checked your phone, you realized that a certain contact was missing, A phone number that you had long since given up on contacting. There was a gap in your carefully curated picture gallery, Siyeon’s pictures with you taken off your wall, too. In their places were various pictures of Minji and Gahyeon, sometimes together and sometimes apart. In one of the selfies, you noted with a grin that someone had scribbled a Sharpie mustache over Minji’s face.

Since when had the florist replaced her in your life, and since when were you absolutely okay with that?

Minji smiled as soon as she noticed that the door to the Love Blossom was already open, the lights on inside the shop and some sweet smell wafting out. You hadn’t talked about the time she saved you in your apartment, but ever since then, the florist had noted that you were opening up more. You were happier, more willing to crack jokes and visit her on your own accord. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Morning, Minji!” you answered, spinning out of the apartment with a grin. The apron that Minji usually wore to make her syrups was tied around your waist, the faint pink of it white with flour. You held the door open for her and moved to take her jacket off for her, a gorgeous smile on your face as you did. “I let myself in early to make you some bread, I hope you don’t mind!”

“I never mind bread,” the brunette laughed, her heart already warm when she inhaled honeyed air. “Today isn’t a checkup day, though? You stopped by 3 days ago, did you run out of syrup or something?”

You pouted, in a remarkably good mood as you twirled around the kitchen. The counter was finally free of flowers and glass vials, replaced instead by a huge bag of flour and trays of golden-brown pastries. Minji didn’t remember having those supplies, but she wouldn’t put it past you to restock her kitchen just for fun while she visited her friends. “What, I can’t come and see my friends? I’m off work today, so I thought I could bake for you and learn about your bouquet orders.”

Sighing in false exasperation, Minji patted you on the head and tied her hair up to start working, flipping the sign on the door to read “OPEN”. “Of course you can come and see me whenever you want, it’s just rare that you come by like this.”

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” you shrugged, plopping three pastries on a plate for the other girl. The kitchen looked like a completely different place without the usual bloody petals scattered all over the place, and to be honest, Minji loved the change. For once, she wasn’t in charge of saving your life-- she was just a florist, and she was just your friend.

There was no way she could keep the smile off her face, not when you sang exaggeratedly into a filling spoon, and not when you baked all the things she mentioned that she liked.

Something felt tight in her chest when she inhaled air perfumed by butter and roses, but Minji could only smile. For you.

The next time you baked for her was bittersweet. Once again, you were already in the apartment when Minji came back from her morning visit.

“I’m healed,” you sobbed as you catapulted into her arms, a slight poof of flour exploding when your chest met hers. Minji stood still in shock, hands resting softly on the small of your back as you cried, “Minji, I’m healed. You saved me.”

“For real?” she whispered, pulling back to cup your face in your hands. You nodded tearily, makeup-tinted tears mixing with flour as the other girl hugged you again, something clogging up her throat as she tried to breathe. “I... I’m so happy for you.”

You grinned despite your tears as you brought a cake out of the fridge, the pretty lavenders and blues of the frosting somehow reminding Minji of a goodbye. She turned out to be right. “They’re forget-me-nots,” you explained when you gestured to the pretty piped flowers on the cake. “Um, so you don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” Minji blurted, feeling a sting at her own nose. “Come back sometime, okay, Y/N? You don’t forget me either, got it?”

“I won’t.” Despite all the sincerity in your gaze, your promise was hollow to the florist’s ears. You were already tugging on your jacket again, leaving her standing in the middle of an all-too-clean kitchen with a beautiful cake in her hands. “I’m sorry, Minji, I have to get back to work. But I’ll be back soon,” you smiled, watching her carefully for a reaction.

Minji nodded, knees almost trembling as she watched you turn back to wave one last time. “Okay.”

As soon as the glass door slammed again, she rushed to place the cake down, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow as she was hit with yet another uncontrollable fit of coughing. She crouched, free hand gripping tight on the legs of the table near her to steady herself as flower petals dotted with red fluttered softly onto the ground.

“Mallow,” she recognized as she scrambled to pick up the purple-veined blooms, vomiting out yet another. “Mallow...”

Scooting back so that her back could hit the kitchen cabinets, Minji watched the candles atop the cake burn out, blood dripping from her lips onto the pale fabric of her sweater. She didn’t care, though, as she stopped a shallow breath from escaping, finally remembering the meanings of the flowers in her shaking hands.

“Consumed by love.”

169 notes · View notes

wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years

Text

All Over Again → Kim Seokjin

↳ Pairing: Jin/Reader

↳ Word count: 2,203

⁙ Summary: Seokjin has always been in love with you, even if at an early age you had been stricken with memory degradation and memory loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t your fault. It was the way you were born, the way you had been destined to be. More than forgetful, more than scrambling around your house wondering where you had left your phone charger. It was forgetting things that just happened. It was forgetting about your friends, the things you loved and the things you wanted to do.

Your memory hadn’t always been like this. You had friends, you had a family, you had hobbies, likes and dislikes, favourite foods and favourite books, but over time things began to fall further and further from your brain. Eventually, a number of things you could remember were how to walk, eat, speak, read, and write.

One thing you always knew was that, no matter what, you seemed to make the people around you sad. You never understood why- you hardly knew anyone. People who came to visit you always had frowned when you asked their names and tears welled up in their eyes when you didn’t know the answers to any of their questions. It was so confusing. Why was everyone so… gloomy?

“Seokjin, I know how much you care about her, but… she doesn’t remember you,” your mother commented sadly to the boy standing outside your room with a bouquet of flowers. “She hardly even remembers us now. Her memory is too degraded.”

Seokjin, the boy who had loved you since preschool only smiled warmly in her direction. “That’s okay,” he replied. “I’d like to talk to her anyway if that’s alright.”

“Honey, be my guest, I think she would enjoy some company other than me.”

You turned your head away from your colouring book as the door handle to your room turned and clicked, the door soon opening. The light from the large window cast a bright and nearly blinding light into the nearly completely white room you were in, causing your visitor to squint as he walked in. You watched this new person enter with curiosity, enjoying the blast of colour that followed him in that took the shape of multicoloured flowers.

“Hi there,” he greeted, smiling over at you. “Mind if I sit?”

“Hi,” you say in return, shoving your book and pencil crayons off to one side. “You can sit down if you want. My name’s (Y/N).”

The boy took the padded seat next to your bed, gently placing down the flowers in your lap. “I know.”

“How?” You wonder aloud. “We’ve never met before.”

The boy smiled at you, and you saw something in his eyes that you had somehow seen before, but you couldn’t exactly place where you had. His plump lips were curved upwards in the most… how could you say… calming way, his fingers leaving the bouquet wrappings to the sheets of your bed, running a finger along the fabric. You blushed by only watching his movements.

“I’ve known you for a long time, actually. My name is Seokjin, but you used to call me Jinny. You’ve always been the only one allowed to call me that.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the flowers, smiling at them. “I like these, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I knew you would like them, they’ve always been your favourite,” he said, his fingers moving back to the flowers, taking one of the yellow petals in between his thumb and forefinger.

“What are they?”

“They’re roses, painted in all the colours you like. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,” Jin explains, and you look back at him with a smile.

“I love every colour,” you say proudly, sitting up a bit straighter.

“I know you do.” Jin’s smile faltered slightly. Tilting your head in curiosity, you watched him look down at his wrist, gently pull back his sleeve and look at a watch. The way he delicately did such a simple thing made your heart beat a little faster.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Nothing, don’t worry. Say, what were you drawing?” He asked.

“I was drawing?” You wonder, looking to your left to find you book sitting next to you. “Oh.” You reach out to grab the book, flipping through to see your most recent drawing. “I guess I was drawing this.”

Your eyes widen as you look at the page. You never knew that you drew it, and the person whose face you drew looked familiar. You squinted at the page before holding it upright beside Jin’s face. You looked from him to the drawing, noticing that they looked nearly identical. An oval sculpted face, heart-shaped lips, thin, square eyes, round nose and tousled brown hair.

“Hey, (Y/N), are you okay?” Jin gently grasped the paper and flipped it over when you fully handed it over to him. However, his reaction to seeing what was on the page wasn’t what you expected. Instead of wide, stunned eyes, he just smiled, looking over your face again. “See? You’ve been drawing me. You’ve known me for a long, long time.”

“But how? I don’t remember you.” You say dejectedly. “I-I’m sorry.” For some reason, pain struck your heart. You wanted to remember him, you really did. You felt like there was something there, a feeling like you did really know him, enough to feel the twinge of nervousness and shyness in your chest, to know what it meant despite what was wrong with you. But, no matter how hard you tried, nothing came to your head, and nothing happened.

Jin placed down your book on your bed and raised his hands, noticing that tears were welling up in your eyes. “No, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he cried. “I just want you to know.”

You sniffle. “Know what?”

“I want you to know that I love you,” he stated, leaning forward in his chair to rest his arms on your bed, placing his cheek against the sheets. “I love you so much, even if you forget about me every time I leave the room.”

Did he love you? Did he get the same feelings in his chest as you do as you’re looking at him right now? Does he find himself drawing you? Does he forget about you, too?

“Jinny,” you say, feeling a bit more at ease when you say his name that way, “I.. I, um…”

“Hmm?” He hummed, waiting patiently for the end of your sentence with a smile.

“I love you too,” you agree with very little thought involved. You know what this was, a deep-seated feeling that even you couldn’t forget. It was love. “Please…”

“What is it? Do you want some ice chips?” He sits up, ready to stand, and you only smile and shake your head, grasping his wrist for good measure.

“Please, don’t go… not ever. I don’t want to forget you.” Tears were now spilling over the rims of your eyes. You knew that if he left the room you would have to meet him all over again. You had done it so many times with your mother until her constant presence finally solidified her in your mind, but it seemed like Jin hadn’t made that kind of progress.

“You won’t forget about me,” he told you, reaching up to swipe a thumb at a stray tear. “You draw my face in your books and you remember my nickname even if I only mention it once. Once you love someone, you never really forget them. Alright?”

“Okay,” you agree, leaning into his touch, his hand now cupping your cheek gently. “Will you stay a little longer, though?”

“Of course I can.”

~ 4 hours later ~

You smiled at your newest masterpiece and placed down your charcoal pencil, holding up your sketchbook and admiring your handiwork.

“(Y/N), don’t you think it’s time you eat your dinner?” Your mother asked as she sat against the wall, returning Jin’s shrug as he could finally move from his pose. She gripped your dinner tray in her hands, it slowly growing cold from the passage of time.

“I only just finished,” you whine. “Can I eat after I put the seal on it?”

“(Y/N),” your mother called scoldingly. “Your charcoal won’t smudge if you leave it for a few minutes, now eat up.”

“You should probably listen to your mom, (Y/N),” Jin chimed as he stood up to stretch. “She can get pretty scary.”

You looked over at your mother, who was looking at Jin with a knowing smirk, but, she said nothing.

“But eating my dinner means that visiting hours are over and you have to go home, right?” You ask innocently.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jin replied cautiously.

“Then I’m never going to eat my dinner!” You declare, placing your sketchbook on the small table beside your bed, promptly crossing your arms and pouting in your mother’s direction.

“(Y/N), come on, Jin can visit tomorrow.”

“But…”

“No buts.”

“Alright, fine.” You sigh dejectedly, nodding in the direction of your mother.

Your mother stands, satisfied at your compliance. She placed the tray on your lap as you sadly watched Jin stand.

He looks down at you with his soft smile, “I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Of course, I promise,” he reassures you by nodding and crossing his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He begins to turn around, but you grab his wrist. “What is it?”

“One more thing.” You tug on his arm gently, and his smile grows wider as he figures out what you want. Before you know it, he’s bent down in front of you and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you, too, Jinny.”

Jin sighed as he exited the room, closing the door gently behind him. He knew as he walked down the hallway of the hospital that you’ve already forgotten about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to be depressed or sad about it.

He pulled out his phone to text his friends that he was coming home, a smile still present on his lips.

GROUP CHAT

NJ: Hey, Jin, visiting hours ended like half an hour ago. Are you coming home?

TH: Yeah, we need you to make dinner.

SJ: You guys really need to learn how to cook for yourselves. Yeah, I’m coming home.

JM: How was the hospital? Did she…?

SJ: No, sadly.

YG: :( We’re sorry

TH: Yeah… we know how much you love her.

NJ: Maybe one day she’ll remember you

SJ: I don’t care about that anymore, I’m not sad about it

JK: Wait, why not? You’re usually so torn up about it once hours are up.

SJ: I don’t know, I just noticed that every time I go to see her, it’s like she’s never seen me, and…

YG: And what?

SJ: And it’s like she falls in love with me all over again, every day. She never gets tired of it, she never gets tired of my face and she never wants me to leave once visitation is over.

TH: Now that’s what I call true love. She’s never freaked out at you?

SJ: No, never. I tell her that she knows me and she’s always a little confused at first but I always see that light in her eyes, I can practically feel the butterflies she gets. I just know that she loves me, even if it’s new to her every time I go in.

NJ: :) that’s the spirit!

YG: I feel like I could write a million songs right now

TH: Me too :D

HS: That’s so beautiful T_T

JK: You should just pop the question every day to see what she says ;)

JM: It’s good that she has someone like you

Seokjin smiled to himself as he locked his phone. He would visit you every day, watch you fall in love all over again until one day he would finally be so embedded in your memory that you had one less thing to forget. So that he would never have to leave you, so visiting hours were never over.

~ The Next Day ~

“Seokjin, back again, are we?” Your mother asked, a smile on her face as she nursed a cup of coffee, leaning on the wall by the door to your room. “Seems like you’re freeing up your schedule.”

“I’m trying to as much as I can, Ms (L/N),” he says cheerfully, gripping a small gift bag. “Is she awake?”

“Yep, and pretty energetic, too.”

“Oh, good. So, I can go in?” He asked, smiling at your mother.

“Of course, go on.”

The door made a small click once again as Jin entered the room, his smile becoming a grin as you looked over at him from your sketchbook.

“Hi there,” he greeted, smiling over at you. “Mind if I sit?”

“Hi,” you say in return, shoving your book and pencil crayons off to one side with a giant smile. “You’re more than welcome to sit down. My name’s (Y/N).”

Seokjin took toward the padded seat next to your bed, gently placing down the gift bag in his lap, deciding to present it to you before he left at the end of visitation. “I know.”

“You do?”

All over again.

#kim seokjin #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #reader insert #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop imagine #bts #bts imagines

36 notes · View notes

doubletriplepowerbomb · 3 years

Text

Mr Lonely part 4

Word count: +2600 (its a short one... I know)

Warnings: none

Tags: @jenn0755 @zappyzoodle @disturbthepearls @lost-in-the-stories @lithesxx @racingandreigns @rocketgirl2410 @vebner37 @therianfurry46 @littlelunaticfringe @finnbalorlover21 @winged-time-criminal @mrsnegan25 @xfirespritex @wefunloveruniverse @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Read part 3 here

December 1st. It’s been 3 months since the night we started officially dating. The air was frigid and the trees were bare. Snow covered the ground and the sun started setting at 4 pm. But I wasn’t as grumpy as I would have been, I had him. Things had been going really really well. We haven’t been able to keep our hands off of each other. Sheamus’ large hands hold my hips every time he walks past me and I still feel weak under his touch. When my back is turned to him, he’ll either slap my ass playfully or run a hand through my hair. When his back is turned to mine, I do the same things.

We don’t often make it through dinner. I prefer to dine at home, that way I can crawl onto his lap whenever I want. He prefers to dine out, only so he can tease me under the table and watch me suffer.

He’s been really good about the girls too, there aren’t many that try anymore but sometimes he gets the occasional text. I hate it, I trust him, but I hate it. His number is everywhere in my bar, I’ve tried my best to paint over the pen and marker marks but the carvings remain. The digits dug into my bar taunt me every time I'm working and I hate it. I want him all to myself. This isn’t the first time I’m saying this, he knows how much it bothers me to see his phone number carved into the wooden bar and stall doors. Nothing I can do can get rid of the past.

It was 2 am on Christmas Day.

Sheamus’ phone buzzed silently in his sweatpants pocket. He had worn pants to bed that night, which I found odd, and he never placed his phone on the windowsill near him like he usually did.

I remember waking up to him getting out of bed slowly, I didn’t open my eyes but I rolled towards him and placed a hand on his warm back, he was sitting up. “Go back to bed, love. Ah’m just goin’ to the bathroom.” He whispered. That was enough for me so I removed my hand from his warm skin and rolled back over.

What I didn’t know was that Sheamus was not going to the bathroom. He slipped out of my room and closed the door silently behind him. He had left his laundry folded on my couch, I noticed earlier but didn’t care much. He pulled on a long sleeve shirt and a warm flannel before rummaging through the small pile and grabbing two socks, not turning on any light to see if they matched. He then slipped on his old work boots, reminding himself to get a new pair soon, and his coat before grabbing the keys to his truck and my key to the bar.

I woke up on Christmas Day to Sheamus rolling over in my bed and snuggling up closer to me. It was 10 am. I was excited for today, the bar was not open on Christmas so Sheamus and I would spend the evening with my family. Sheamus’ family is in Ireland, he doesn’t talk much about them. All I managed to know is that he doesn’t have any siblings and he doesn’t get along with his father.

I turned in his arms so that I was facing him. He always looked so peaceful when he slept. He was snoring softly and breathing steadily. I gently ran my finger along the lines of his face, his lips turned upward when fingers brushed through his beard.

Normally, I would get up to make breakfast but I didn’t want to disturb him. He was always so intense, so charismatic, and so alive that it seemed out of character for him to be so at peace. He looked content. I’m sure the holidays weren’t the best times for him in previous years, I figure he spent them alone. Sure, there were women more than willing to spend the nights in his bed but what did he do when they were gone too? I knew he missed home, he had family at home. He definitely missed his mom. He spoke to her on the phone every day and they even sent letters back and forth-- I was at his apartment once, sitting on the couch while he took a shower after a long day of work, and I saw the most recent letter from his mom on the counter. I didn’t want to read it and I didn’t read it, but I couldn't help scanning my eyes over the page. I caught my name written in a random sentence in the middle of the page… he had mentioned me to his mother.

Sheamus woke up, his bright blue eyes met mine and snapped me from my trance. I blinked a few times and, knowing I had been caught staring, felt a blush bloom across my face. Sheamus only smirked his beautiful smirk and pulled me closer to him. He was always so warm. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head before resting his chin in the place he just kissed.

“Ya look like you've been thinkin’ love.” He mumbled. “Ah can still see the smoke common’ from yer ears from all the effort.” Sheamus laughed at his joke and squeezed me against his bare chest, allowing me to get close enough to slap it. Despite the playfulness and gentleness of my slap, my hand left an angry red mark on his skin. I always felt bad after seeing a mark on his skin, they never hurt him but the stark red against the beautiful white always made it seem like a life-threatening injury. He personally liked all the marks I left on his smooth white skin over the months, he would always admire them after sex.

I playfully pushed away after staring at the mark from the slap and sat up on the bed, “ugh, and to think I was gonna make you snowmen shaped pancakes this morning.”

Sheamus rolled dramatically onto his back, my eyes were drawn to the blanket riding low on his hips. My eyes followed the trail of soft red hair leading downwards from his belly button, teasing what was beneath the boxers he was wearing. “Oh no! Whatever will ah do without three normal shaped pancakes that ya line up on a plate and put chocolate chips on fer eyes?!”

I feigned offense to his overly dramatic comment. “Excuse me? They are cute!”

“Yer cute.” He winked and sent me a boyish grin that made my insides clench. I shut my lips and decided to tease instead. I rolled my eyes and stood up before bending over to grab his shirt. I knew he was watching. I was only wearing underwear. He didn’t move, but he was growing hard underneath the fabric of my sheets and his boxers-- he had taken the sweats off after he had gotten back around 4 am. I slipped his shirt on and headed towards the bedroom door, “I'm making you snowmen pancakes.” I said before stopping to turn around. I turned and my eyes met his, “and you better be appreciative or I will put on pants.”

It was the only threat I knew he’d take seriously.

We ate our pancakes in the comfortable silence that I have grown to love over the past couple months. “You don’t have to leave today, do you?” I asked between bites of pancake. My eyes rose from my plate to meet his eyes.

He finished his bite and my eyes moved to his neck as he swallowed. He took a sip of coffee before speaking. “Of course not. It’s Christmas, nobody works on Christmas.” Sheamus shot me a smirk before shoveling the final forkful of pancake in his mouth. “Yer spendin’ the whole day wit’ me, love.” He wiped his mouth and mustache with his napkin before getting up and placing his plate in the sink. “Whether ya like it or not.” I watched his bare torso and arms shamelessly as he rinsed his plate. I could feel heat shooting throughout my body as his muscles rippled with his effortless movements.

“When do you want to do gifts?” I asked, staring at his back as he placed the rinsed dish in the dishwasher.

Sheamus was silent for a moment but spoke after he closed the dishwasher and turned to me. My eyes were on his body as he turned. “We can do gifts whenever ya want. But ya should go first, ya won’t be able to follow my gift to you.”

I shot him a glare and padded to the living room, where a small Christmas tree stood in the corner by the couch. “Sit.” I pointed towards the couch, the pile of laundry from yesterday was still sitting on one of the cushions. Sheamus sat and I walked to the small coat closet that I had and began digging through the clutter. I emerged seconds later with a medium sized box wrapped in shiny green paper with a golden bow. I placed it on his lap with a kiss to his head and sat on the couch beside him.

Sheamus opened the gift with a smile on his face and a shimmer in his eyes, he looked like the little boy in the photo of him I saw for the first time months ago. The paper was peeled off and revealed a neutral box, he looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I nodded once, encouraging him to continue opening. He opened the box carefully and I smiled upon seeing a small gasp escape from his lips. He pulled the left boot out of the box and turned to me. “How’d ya know ah needed new boots? And ya got the brand and the size and everythin’!”

“Well I’m not blind, your boots are falling apart and you always beg me to rub your feet after work,” I scrunched my nose as I told him. “And you’re not the most unpredictable dresser. You wear the same thing everyday. I took one of your boots to the store downtown a few weeks ago, got the same brand, same size, same color. I have the receipt if you wanna go back and try something new.” I told him.

The Irishman smiled and brought his arm around my shoulders to pull me in. “They’re perfect. Thank you, love. Ah really needed these.” He whispered before pressing a kiss to my temple. “But, my gift is still better than yours.” He teased.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Okay, where is it then?” I asked, looking around. I have to admit, I did my fair share of snooping these past couple days-- both at my apartment and his-- while he was at work and I couldn’t find a thing.

“Well, ah don’t have it here…” His voice trailed off but it picked up again before I could speak. “As much as ah hate when ya get dressed, yer gonna have to.” I rolled my eyes and dragged him into my room. I threw on a pair of joggers and a jacket over his shirt.

I turned to look at him, “Is this good? Or are you taking me somewhere public?” Sheamus chuckled and told me I was fine. I pulled my hair up into a half up half down bun before slipping on my boots and following him out to his truck.

Sheamus had started the truck before we had gotten outside so it was warming up quickly as we climbed in. The air was brisk, the wind was blowing, and snow covered the sidewalks. Christmas hits played at a low volume on the radio. Normally, I’d be singing, but I stayed quiet so I could hear Sheamus' deep accented voice sing the lyrics.

He pulled into the parking lot of the bar and I sat in the passenger’s seat, looking extremely confused. “The gift is in here.” He commented, noticing my confusion. I glared at him before climbing out of the truck and following him to the doors. He pulled the key out of his jacket pocket and opened the door, holding it for me to walk in. I clicked on the lights and looked around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than the faint smell of paint-- that I didn't notice at the time.

“Is my gift in here?” I teased.

“Yes, it is. Look around, but don’t touch anythin’.” I groaned, my mom always played the hot and cold game with us on Christmas and I was always so impatient. I looked around for a few minutes, finding nothing. Sheamus knew I’d be searching hopelessly, I was looking for a box. “Look on the bar, love.”

I turned to him, “On?” I wanted to make sure I heard him correctly.

He nodded, “Yes, dear, on.”

I turned back to the bar and walked closer, I saw nothing on it. “There’s nothing here.” I spoke, still looking at the blank wood.

“Exactly. There’s nothin’ there…” His voice trailed off, leaving me to solve his riddle.

It took a moment for it to click. When it did, I took off down the bar. The entire surface was smooth, untouched wood. I ran into the bathrooms, the stall doors were also smooth and untouched. I bursted from the spotless bathrooms and circled around to the tables I knew had been carved. “Sheamus!” I squealed as I ran straight towards him. He was still standing right by the door, he hadn’t moved. Once I reached him he held his arms out for me and I jumped into them-- cliché, I know. But you’d do the same thing if the former town whore, who was now your boyfriend, had removed his phone number from every wooden surface in the bar you worked at because you didn’t like it being there.

“How’d you do this?” I asked, still in his arms. “When’d you do this? I was at the bar last night. Granted we closed early but you were with me the entire time.” I was babbling. I knew I was babbling, but I couldn’t help myself.

“When I woke ya up last night and told ya ah was goin’ to the bathroom. Ah snuck out of the apartment and filled in the wood, re-stained it too.”

“Oh my god, Sheamus,” I pulled my head away from the crook of his neck to look into his blue eyes. They still had that shimmer in them, the same one from the photo, the same one he had when he would ask me to check his essays, the same one when we talked that first night in the bar, and the same one from when he opened his new boots. “Thank you.” My voice came out as only a whisper before I pressed my lips to his.

“And that was the moment I knew I was in love with your father.” I said, looking up at my daughter who was furiously typing away on her school-issued laptop. She had approached me earlier asking questions about my relationship with her father for a school project about her family.

3 Christmases after our first together, Sheamus proposed to me in the empty bar. We got married the next fall. That was 20 years ago, we have a son who is 18 and a daughter who is 16. Our son, Andrew, has my hair and my brown eyes. He got my tanner complexion too. Our daughter, Alex, on the other hand, is a carbon copy of the Irishman:" red hair, blue eyes, and beautiful pale skin.

“Wait, dad was… ‘the town whore’?” Alex stifled a laugh as she quoted my words, “How am I supposed to write that into my project?”

I laughed too, “I don’t know, honey. But don’t make fun of dad too much about it, he’ll get embarrassed.” I joked.

My daughter smiled and looked back down at her computer screen. “I’ll just say that you met in high school and met again after college. That’s good enough.”

A/N: chapter 4 was short, but I hope you enjoyed Mr. Lonely! I debated writing the proposal scene so let me know if you want it and I’ll post it as a chapter 4.5!

#sheamus #sheamus fanfiction #sheamus smut #sheamus x reader #wwe

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cherrywoes · 4 years

Text

001 (Mature) (P1)

Contains mature themes. Read with caution. Subtle thigh riding, nothing blatantly sexual.

YOU MET USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI on a cold, bitter day in the middle of winter at a beach that was deserted besides the small skeleton crew. They had brought their cameras and plastic tarps to keep you from getting sand all over their sample fashion pieces and were excitedly chattering over warm coffee that you couldn't have.

Modeling wasn't the job you had in mind when you had accepted the personal request from your best friend, Akaashi Keiji—the man who had skyrocketed to fame with his effortless clothing designs and pretty face—over two years ago. Yet here you were, freezing, nearly naked in the middle of winter with snow threatening to fall down from the heavens and decorate you with delicate flakes of precious ice. Akaashi paid you very well for going through with his sometimes insane concept ideas, but you couldn't help but curse him in your mind as you covered your breasts to retain some semblance of warmth, as well as any modesty you had left to keep from the photographers.

"[Name], how are we doing?" Your manager, Ayano, sidled up to you with a warm mug in her hands and looking amazingly warm and cozy, a direct contrast to your shivering form. "It won't be much longer, we're just waiting on the male model Akaashi hired. The other one flaked last minute for a trip to Argentina. Can you believe that?"

"Are you serious?" You chattered incredulously, teeth clacking together uncomfortably. Ayano had the shame to pity you. "Oikawa went to Argentina?"

You had been banking on the man to be your partner for the shoot. He was the only one you felt comfortable with half nude as you were, since you both did these spreads with each other often and enough that it wasn't strange for you to change in the same dressing room. He was amazing at lightening the atmosphere so you were comfortable with him, even if his manager got angry with him whenever he flirted with you on what he thought was the sly. Dancing his fingers over your bare shoulders was not sly, you'd laughed at him when he pouted at the hair and makeup station.

But he was in Argentina? For what? You had half a mind to text him an infuriatingly long text, and reached for your phone in Ayano's pocket, but found yourself exposed to the cold and even chillier than before. With a sigh, you pulled your arms close to your chest again, peering down to make sure you didn't have a nip slip in the process. The crazed press hiding in the sand dunes would have a field day with that.

"He never said why," Ayano answered, taking a sip of her coffee and ignoring your glare of envy. "It'll be okay though, Ushijima's a nice man and he won't try anything. Akaashi knows him pretty well, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to him last minute."

You snorted, imagining Oikawa boarding a plane hurriedly. "How last minute are we talking?"

"Around an hour or so before we got here." Ayano nodded her head sagely when you turned to look at her with more disbelief than you had at the reveal that Oikawa had dipped and flew out to another country. "Mhm. He's very reliable, according to Akaashi."

"Who has free time like that?" You laughed. "Nevermind, don't answer that. Can I get a jacket or something? I'm freezing here. We haven't even shot any singles yet."

Ayano winced in sympathy and patted your shoulder. Her fingers were so warm that you lamented the loss immediately, shuffling closer to huddle into her scratchy linen jacket. She snickered and let you stay close, almost burying yourself into her side, and too soon, you heard a car door slam near the parking lot over the quiet sea.

Your eyes darted to the top of the dunes where you spotted a tall, muscular figure cresting the half buried staircase and heading down to your entourage of photographers and stylists. At his side, two dogs loped in similar fashion, each held on leather leashes and clipped to what looked like diamond encrusted chain collars. Dobermans, you realized, from the cropped ears and docked tails when they drew closer, lithe frames stark against the pale sand. One was black and tan, slightly larger than the other one, which was Isabella and tan, with a more svelte figure and kept more closely to its owner, who was far more impressive the closer he got.

You couldn't help but poke your head over Ayano's shoulder and gawk at the male specimen before you. He was all toned muscle, from his neck down to his feet, and you could see carefully sculpted abdominal muscles through his shirt, which clung to him like a second skin in some silky nylon fabric that had some expensive name over his left pectoral. He wore sweatpants that were torn at the knees into shorts, and you raised your eyebrows at the way his calf muscles flexed when he shifted his weight to his left leg. You only saw that kind of dedication on bodybuilders and showmen, not models; they all seemed to prefer skinny muscle to actual muscle.

He had that austere cast to his features and aura, you could tell, when he turned his head just enough to reveal his eyes, brilliant chips of green and brown framed by severe eyebrows that complimented the bones of his face and the angle of his jaw. Even his hair was complimentary, a close undercut with long strands on top that looked to have been combed through with fingers and half heartedly with a comb.

"Damn." Ayano whispered your thoughts and pulled away from you, leaving you cold and shivering once more. Like a shot, she was off to speak to his manager, who was a lanky man with a startling shock of red hair that had you staring for a moment.

You almost screeched when a cold nose touched your cold knee. Somewhere between Ayano leaving and you shifting your hands under your armpits, the man had unhooked his dogs from their leashes and allowed them to wander up to you without a care in the world, because he was still listening to something the lead director was telling him.

The one nudging at your knee was the Isabella and tan one, her ears up and pointed towards you. Her stub of a tail wagged excitedly and you hesitated to pet her, eyeing the black and tan one that had settled into a sitting position beside your feet and out of the harsh gusts of wind that rose every so often.

Moving to cover your breasts with one arm, you held out your hand for her to sniff, cringing when she leaned forward and huffed over your fingers. Then, tentatively, she gave a few licks to your knuckles and bounded off towards her owner. The black one, male by the looks of it, stayed beside you, stalwart and unwilling to go back out into the cold wind.

"Nox." Their owner's voice was so deep that you were startled by the thrum that had begun in your belly. You looked over and saw the man was staring at the dog behind you, waiting for him to obey his call. "Come."

The dog, Nox, huffed and hid his head behind your leg, ignoring him. You had to stifle a snicker. The man looked at you, then, and you noticed that he kept his eyes trained on your face, analyzing your features with a slight furrow to his brows. Then he looked away, back towards the director who was pointing to you and explaining something with wide gestures. You almost felt offended at his easy dismissal.

"[Name]!" The director waved you over and you scowled, wrapping your other arm over your chest again and walking over to where he stood with the mystery man. His dog, Nox, trailed behind you, keen on avoiding both his owner and the wind. When you stood beside the director, surprised at how tall the man was and how your neck started to hurt looking up at him, he gestured to the man. "This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, Akaashi's friend. He'll be modeling with you today. Ushijima, this is [Name], the face of the brand."

Your face flushed red and crept down your neck when he looked at you again, this time an intense look of concentration on his face. Even his eyes were intense, sharp and narrowed and soul searching. You hoped he blamed the blush on the cold.

"Nice to meet you," you said, embarrassed at how your teeth cracked together, and held out a shaking hand for him to shake. "I'm [Name] [Surname]."

Ushijima stared at your hand like it was a particularly offensive bug. Your smile turned brittle and before you could pull your hand back and tuck it under your armpit, he enveloped your tiny hand in his—tiny compared to his giant ones, anyway—and shook it slowly, almost like he was pained to shake it in the first place.

"Ushijima," he said and that was all he offered. He released your hand and looked to the director again, waiting for a further explanation, and you clenched your jaw in irritation. Even if he was pretty, you didn't like being dismissed like you were nothing.

This time, the red flush creeping up your neck had nothing to do with embarrassment.

His manager seemed to notice your growing anger and slapped Ushijima on the back. Hard. You had to swallow nervously when Ushijima's eyes went cold and turned to his manager, shoulders stiffening and bunching underneath the sting of the slap.

"Wakatoshi, you can't just do that," the redheaded male admonished, pointing to you. "Be nice. Remember our lessons?"

You raised an eyebrow. Lessons? To be nice? You appraised the man in a new light; he was stiff, too tense, and seemed high strung like a live wire, like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. You wondered if he had an issue or something with any emotion other than coldness.

Ushijima stared at his manager with narrowed eyes, then looked back over to you. They softened slightly, scanning over your face—your anger ebbing away into confusion—and he dipped his head slightly in a small bow. "Sorry."

"It's fine," you whispered in reply, your confusion overriding your anger and the warmth it had brought you. You watched his eyebrows drop and then go back to neutral, as if he was thinking, and the director cleared his throat to draw both of your attention back to him.

"As I was saying—Ushijima, the poses are fairly simple. Because [Name] isn't tall enough to reach your shoulders, she'll be standing on a stool. It'll be your job to keep her steady. How uncomfortable are you with intimate skin contact?"

"It doesn't bother me," Ushijima answered in a clipped tone. You squirmed uncomfortably, cold once more, and felt Nox brush against your legs. "Is there anything else?"

"No, anything else is covered in your contract. Just put on the clothes they give you and we'll start in five."

You made your way back to the tarp, spotting the stool in question, and turned around, mouth open to ask if you should move it to the middle, and abruptly closed it with an audible snap.

There, behind a tiny rack of clothes facing the ocean, Ushijima was pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back flexing fantastically with the smooth movement. A few moments later he stepped out from behind the rack, dressed in sleek and slim khaki pants that hugged at his legs a little too snuggly. The stylist rolled the hems up above his ankles and handed him a pair of loafers, which he put on once he reached the tarp and wiped his feet clean of sand.

Your mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert. His personality might be lacking, but he was gorgeous, you had to give him that. Oikawa was pretty in a different way, but he'd never appealed to you in the way this man, Ushijima, was. Even if it was solely physical appeal, you couldn't help but wonder if he had deeper issues than just being nice; he didn't seem rude, just blunt, the more you thought about it, one of those silent types that your mother adored.

You didn't like that your tastes skewed close to hers.

"[Name], up on the stool," the director yelled over rising winds. Your hair whipped into your face. "Ushijima, stand in front of her. Yes, just like that, now move a little to the left—right there. Now [Name], wrap one arm around his neck and the other under his arm and over his back."

You looked Ushijima in the eye from your slightly elevated height. He was eye level with you now and raised his eyebrows.

"Are you okay with me…?" You motioned to your breasts and then mimed wrapping your free arm around his neck.

"Oh. Yeah." He shuffled closer and when the stool trembled under shifting sand, his hands shot up to steady you at the waist, just under the ribs. His thumbs almost touched, his hands were so large. "Are you okay?"

At least he was trying to be considerate. You removed your other arm and steadied yourself on his shoulders, faintly hearing the click of cameras already going. "There, I should be okay now. You can let go if you want."

You heard his frown, more than saw it, as you hooked your right arm around his neck and the other under his bicep, draping your hand loosely over his left shoulder blade. His hand came up to your back to hold you steady, pressing between your shoulders and unintentionally pushing your breasts and upper body into his chest. "I don't want you to fall."

Ushijima was pleasantly warm, you noted, and shifted slightly so the director could get your face better. When your nipples, hard from the cold, dragged against his chest, you could have sworn you heard him take a deep inhale and exhale sharply, but over the wind it was hard to tell.

"Thanks," you said, as normally as you could make it. It was a whisper and almost directly in his ear. His hand tightened subtly against the skin of your side.

A few clicks of a shutter later and the director wasn't satisfied. "[Name], wrap both arms under his and rest your chin on his shoulder."

You did as commanded, even if your body was screaming at the pose you were in and your mind damning Oikawa to hell at the same time. You rested your hands on his shoulder blades, this time your chest and shoulders and torso flush with his. You passed off the goosebumps rising on his skin from the cold, and gave a sultry look to the camera.

"Gorgeous," the director clapped.

They took a few more photos, most of them with you or Ushijima turning your heads to look at the ocean or each other. Every time your gazes met, it was like someone had dropped a nest of bees in your stomach and set them off, and his eyes were dark and intense enough to make shivers go down your spine.

"I'm loving this tension," the director remarked to Ayano and Ushijima's manager. "This is better than anything Oikawa could have produced, I think."

Ayano snorted out a laugh. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll be offended."

The director chuckled. "Alright, [Name], Ushijima! Ushijima, stand behind [Name] this time and [Name], face him please."

You pirouetted on the stool, Ushijima steadying you by your hips, and shifted behind you, allowing you to grip onto his shoulders and steady yourself when more sand sunk into his footprints.

"Alright, same pose as before except Ushijima, I want you to put your fist in her hair and look at the camera."

It was your turn to get goosebumps when his hand slid up the back of your neck to cradle the back of your scalp, and then close his fist into the hair at the nape of your neck. The steady pressure combined with the sound of his breathing in your ear had you mentally running laps, and in the back of your head, you wondered if he'd had experience in pulling hair—then you flushed when you realized exactly where your thoughts were going.

God, Oikawa was never going to forgive you.

Ayano whistled lowly at the display screen as the camera shutters went off. Ushijima's stare was deadly and the way his fingers were tight in your [color] hair added a flair that made her feel like she was looking in on an intimate moment.

"He's good," she complimented towards Tendou.

"Eh?" The redhead scratched his nose. It was numb from the cold. "His face always looks like that. It's terrifying."

When you and Ushijima parted for a break while the director examined the photos more closely, Ayano watched as Ushijima's fingers lingered on your spine for a moment longer than necessary. Then you locked eyes for a brief moment, caught in your own world, and then you stepped away, hurrying into the jacket that Ayano held out for you.

"What was that?" Ayano asked curiously, watching Ushijima tug on a jacket with his name embroidered on the breast pocket. "That tension was no joke."

"He's dangerous," You said breathlessly, holding a hand over yout rapidly beating heart. "Jesus, what did his parents feed him? I might faint, Ayano."

"The souls of his enemies?" She joked, and you jabbed her in the ribs. "Seriously though, maybe you should explore that sometime. I haven't seen you like that since Kuroo."

You wrinkled your nose. "He'd be happy to hear you say that. I still need to call him and see how Kenma's doing."

Ever since your ex-boyfriend had come out as bisexual to you a few months ago, two years after you'd broke things off cleanly, you'd been his staunch supporter when his parents had shunned him and Kenma. While your relationship might not have been what you both wanted, you were still good friends, and had been there for each other through thick and thin. So when Kuroo introduced Kenma, a rising video game streamer, as his boyfriend, you'd cried alligator tears of joy and hugged the life out of him.

You and Kenma got along like a house on fire, to Kuroo's relief and slight worry. You made more than one guest appearance on his streams, and being a famous face, people started shipping you in a poly relationship with the both of them. Even though it was a joke, you'd caught Kenma and Kuroo eyeing you thoughtfully more than once and you were adamant that a poly relationship wasn't what you wanted or needed, even though you loved them both.

Kenma had shrugged dismissively and said,"We might convince you one day."

Coming from him, it was a vow and not a promise. You'd laughed it off and Ayano saved the day with a phone call, but you knew he was dead serious about it. Even Kuroo had been interested in the idea, saying he wouldn't mind it at all.

You weren't sure how you felt about that.

"What's wrong with Kenma?" Ayano inquired.

"He's caught some parasite from a bad batch of sushi. He's been in and out of the hospital for a while since he can't fully get rid of them, so I like to check in and see if they need anything." You shrugged. While Kenma made good income streaming, he couldn't do it while he was ill, so you had been subtly paying their bills. Kuroo's chemistry teaching job didn't pay as well as you'd like either. You'd thought about lending your Tokyo penthouse to them since you never used it, but Kuroo would be hesitant to accept the offer. "Last I heard he was able to keep fluids down and was working on soup."

"Hm. I hope he's okay," Ayano hummed. "I know Kuroo's been struggling lately."

You nodded sadly in agreement. Kuroo never ceased to amaze you with how thoughtful and unselfish he was; he'd drop anything for Kenma in a heartbeat, or you if it came to it, and you almost pitied him because all he had was Kenma and you.

Before you could say more, the director called for you and you shed your jacket morosely. Ushijima stood with his dogs and you stepped hesitantly beside him, looking to the director for directions.

"We're going to take one last shoot and then we'll be packing up for the day," he announced and you sighed in relief. You'd finally be out of the cold. "Ushijima, you'll be sitting on the stool this time. [Name], you'll be sitting in his lap and facing the camera. I'll direct you after that."

You avoided Ushijima's gaze as best you could as you both made your way to the tarp. The edges fluttered as the wind pushed it up, but you toed them down and waited for Ushijima to get comfortable on the stool. It was a bit small for him so he had to spread his legs wider than his pants would allow, planting his feet in the sand so he wouldn't fall off. It was almost hilarious.

"Nevermind! [Name], you'll have to straddle his left thigh. Ushijima, once she's settled, I want you to wrap an arm around her breasts and the other around the waist of her shorts. [Name], I want you to reach back and wrap an arm around his neck and use the other to hold on to the arm around your waist."

This just couldn't get any worse, could it? You pleaded to the gods that he wouldn't be able to read you like an open book and carefully lifted your leg over his thigh, using all of your weight to keep yourself steady. You couldn't avoid pressing the crotch of your shorts to his thigh, his leg was too long and your feet barely touched the ground. His thigh flexed between your legs and you had to swallow a tiny gasp that threatened to break free. You had to reassure yourself that he was probably as uncomfortable as you were. That was all that would get you through this.

He made sure not to let you have an accident in front of the cameras, shielding your breasts from view with his arm while you wrapped an arm around his neck and rested your fingers on the soft stubble at the nape.

When you were in position and had your best model face on, the director adjusted the camera lens to focus more on the way Ushijima was a hair's breadth away from touching his nose to the pulse in your throat and his lips to your shoulder. Then, he zoomed out and focused more on the image as a whole, chattering to the editor about how the red of the cold could be edited out.

You couldn't help but relax into Ushijima's warmth the more the cold got to you. He didn't seem to mind; if anything, his grip tightened, and you heard him sigh into your ear. The only thing driving you insane was the way he kept flexing his thigh between your legs; he kept stiffening up and forcing himself to relax, and you had to fight off the arousal that kept building within you every time you remembered that he was touching you as intimately as a man could.

While the director pointed at something you couldn't see on screen, Ushijima stiffened up again and shifted his weight just a little, but it was enough to drag the harsh seam of the shorts against your pulsing clit. You couldn't stop the shaky, small gasp that escaped you, so quiet it was drowned out by the ocean. Except Ushijima—he heard you. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face and a blush crept up your cheeks. He couldn't have known—

PART TWO.

MASTERLIST.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi

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estellaelysian · 4 years

Text

Cross My Heart

A/N: Here comes the second fic of the day. For the good old Valentine's Day. I thought writing this could'nt make me feel anymore single than I already am, but lol, it did the trick.

Cheers to all the single people out there 🥂

Also, this is kinda long, like around 2300 words, so good luck

For @choicesfebchallenge Day 14: Valentine

Ethan double checked everything for the gazzilionth time, his heart beating a little faster than usual. He was in awe of the effect Alishka had on him, always would be, but this had never been his thing.

For almost as long as he could remember, he knew he wasn’t the kind who’d arrange fancy dinners, get a huge bouquet of roses and drape his apartment in red just because it was Valentine’s Day.

Good god. Valentine’s Day.

It fell on his never ending list of frivolous occasions, plain and unimportant. He found it ridiculous how much of attention the day yielded. Add it on to the amount of money people were willing to spend (on giant stuffed bears and boxes of chocolates – which didn’t make sense at all) to celebrate their valentine, and there you had it, Ethan Ramsey shaking his head.

If you wanted to celebrate your valentine, why was it supposed to be just one day?

Every day could be spent in celebrating your partner.

Or atleast that was what he felt.

And still, he couldn’t believe that he was doing this, on Valentine’s Day.

He had never felt so bizarre and nervous at the same time.

But looking back, he also never had anyone to celebrate. He had been too busy building his career, and with Harper, it just hadn’t clicked.

And Alishka changed that, just like she changed almost everything in his life.

Did he actually need a day to celebrate her?

Jesus Christ.

He wished his brain would stop thinking, atleast for a good moment, and leave him alone.

He paced the kitchen, making imperceptible changes to the fork and turned the plate, before glancing at the wall clock. Okay, he thought. She will be here any minute now.

And yet, he couldn’t resist himself.

Pulling out his phone, he thumbed in a quick text, and hit the send button.

When will you be here?

And almost immediately, his phone buzzed with her answer.

Soon enough. I just wanted to know though, what do you have in store for me?

He smiled.

I can’t tell.

And his smile grew even wider with her next text.

Seriously with the suspense right now.

Okay… here goes nothing.

Believe me, I won’t have a giant teddy bear waiting at home for you with a box of chocolates in his hands.

She texted:

I believe you.

***

He was wrong. Her arrival was seemingly delayed.

Time couldn’t seem to go more slowly as he waited, quite impatiently for that knock on the door. It was like drips from water torture. Him on his feet, waiting by the window to get a glimpse at her as she entered his apartment complex, or him wringing his fingers, as he thought about all the ways this could unfold, or, him, just sitting at the dining table with his head in his hands, thinking why did he even think of doing this.

When at last, the doorbell did ring, he found himself positively nervous, much more than he had been all evening.

He rose from the couch and, opening the door to reveal Alishka, in the blue sweatshirt he had gifted her on her birthday, looking just as gorgeous as she would had she dressed up in some sequined dress or even a gown, for that matter of fact.

He knew he wouldn’t prefer her dressed any other way than she was looking right now.

‘Well? Would you let me in yet? Or are we supposed to exchange our surprises right here at your doorstep?’ she asked, pulling him out of his daze.

‘Oh, uh, ofcourse, come on in.’

Did she just say exchange surprises?

Oh God.

He couldn’t resist himself. ‘Did you just say exchange surprises?’

She gave him the smile, crooked and perfect. ‘Yeah. Why? Are you the only one allowed to surprise me?’

With a shake of head, he ushered her inside. She pulled off her scarf and let it down on the couch, before turning to face him.

She was beautiful, he thought as he took in her sultry green eyes, the voluminous brunette waves inching down her back and her natural pouty lips. It was as if she had come down straight from heaven for him.

‘So? Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?’

He smiled. ‘Ofcourse. Gladly.’

Taking her hand, he led her to the dining table, where he had set out the table, arranging their chairs side by side inside of opposite to each other, because that was how they were always supposed to be. Side by side.

She made a faint smile at the tulips kept in a vase at the middle of the table. ‘You remembered.’

He returned her smile. ‘Yeah, I did. They are your favorite flowers after all.’

‘Yeah. Come on now,’ she said, urging him to sit down.

They served up, and she made a gasp at the dishes that now stood in front of her. Lasagna, and nacho chips and salsa, two of her favorites.

‘I know it’s too simple, but…’

‘Are you kidding? It’s perfect.’

They dug in, having dinner together and telling each other stories, all sorts of them, just how Ethan had imagined it to be. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of all the nervousness flowing through his body.

Was she really happy and satisfied with all that he had done?

The light hand she aid on his brought him back to reality again.

‘Ethan, I know what you are thinking, but let me assure you, I wouldn’t prefer it any other way. I absolutely love this.’

How did she guess what was going on in his mind?

And how, just how, was she at so much ease with him when he himself was not?

‘Come on now, loosen up,’ she said, holding out a spoonful to him.

‘I will,’ he said, smiling.

***

Rest of the dinner passed easily, and Alishka was as excited as a little child would be when the desert was to be brought out.

She made another gasp when he revealed the sweet dish. It was Rabdi, a nod to her Indian roots, which she loved and expressed quite too often, even if she wasn’t raised there.

‘How did you–’

‘I had some help from your mom,’ he answered, and she broke out into a big grin, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing him tight.

‘You are the best. This is incredible.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, smiling into her hair. ‘And so are you.’

‘Oh my god, this is the best Valentine’s Day ever.’

‘Well not yet. This is not my surprise.’

‘What?’ She looked stricken. ‘Then what is it?’

‘How about we finish desert first?’

She pouted. ‘Or there is a second option. You could show me what you have for me.’

‘No. Desert is fine.’

He chuckled and watched as she eagerly devoured the dish before looking up at him. He wondered if his amusement showed in his eyes.

‘Okay, now you better give me my present, or I’ll look for it myself.’

‘I am sure no matter how hard you try, you won’t find it, but you know what, I am not going to make you wait anymore.’

He disappeared into his bedroom before coming back a minute later, holding a small white envelope, and handing it to her.

‘This is my present.’

***

He watched, with overwhelming nervousness, as she shook the hair out of her eyes once before gazing up at him and reaching for the envelope.

He wondered for a moment about what would happen next, as he took a seat next to her. She scooted her chair closer to hers, and he could smell her hair, the scent clean and fresh as flowers. He resisted the urge to put his arm around her, instead focusing on her as she took a deep breath and began reading the letter he had spent hours of late night writing.

Dear Alishka,

Most of my life, the sands have fallen in the hourglass quite mercilessly, but I try to remind myself of the joyful year we have shared together, growing closer in what I would call the most amazing way ever.

I wonder who I am without you. Even when I am grumpy and tired, it is you who help me face the day. I sometimes feel as though you can read my mind. You always seem to know what I want or what I need. Even though we had our struggles in the past, I look back at all the time we’ve been beside each other, and I know I was the lucky one. You inspire and fascinate me, and I walk a little taller just because you walk by my side. You make me very proud of the person, the doctor you have come to become, and I know today is not about that, but I just wish you know how much you mean to me. Every time I hold you, I feel as though I need nothing else. You are my everything now.

I know I haven’t always been far to you, that I hurt you one too many times, and I just want to say sorry for that. I know you’ll say it’s in the past, that you’ve already forgiven me, but the past sometimes, even now, the past comes to haunt me at night. I don’t ever want to lose you again, and I am ready to do whatever it takes for you to be right here, by my side, always.

I wish to see you come home to me every day. I want to smell your hair, sit at the dinner table with you. I want to watch as you make pancakes for me which always make my mouth water (since they are they superior ones). I want to see you slip your arms into the blue sweater I bought you for your birthday, the one you like to wear in the evenings and come read with me every night. I want to see you hold Jenner and watch as you talk to him in the most child-like voice you can manage. I want you to murmur to me softly when my head aches. I want you close to me, more than anything else.

I am not good at this. Putting my feelings into words. And yet, I find myself thinking about how easily you do it. That’s why I write this, hoping that you understand that even though I am not good at it, I want to try, I am willing to try because of you.

I have never been more gleeful than when I am with you. You make me happy. You have changed me for good.

I am very grateful for you.

And I love you, very much.

Yours,

Ethan.

Tears shone in her eyes, unmistakably bright, as she held the letter in her hands before she finally turned to look at him.

‘Ethan…’

He pulled her close, kissing her tenderly as the glisten spread to her cheeks.

‘This is the best gift I’ve ever received,’ she said, as she cried softly.

He pulled away and smiled at her. ‘I believe you had something for me too?’

***

They moved to the couch when it was Alishka’s turn to hand him his gift.

She went to the end table, where she’d kept her bag, and pulled out a book of bound which she had put together over the last few days in her free time. It had been incredibly hard to keep it a secret for so long, but, she was glad she had been successful. Returning to the couch, she handed him the book. Open Heart the gold stamped lettering on the cover read.

‘Open heart?’

‘Yeah. Because you have a open heart, because you are kind to people, mostly your patients,’ she said, remembering their little incident at the vending machine. ‘And because you have opened your heart to love this past year. Or past two years.’

Ethan looked from her to the book and back again, curiosity getting the better of him. Alishka settled next to him as he ran his fingers over the bright letters.

‘I’m almost afraid to see what it is,’ he said.

‘Don’t be. It is nothing you won’t like,’ she urged as he finally opened the book. She’d made a photo album of the two of them that opened with photos of each of them as infants and progressed through their entire lives. On the left handed pages were photos of Ethan; on the right, Alishka. He was sure his dad had helped Alishka in putting this together. As he turned the pages, he slowly watched the both of them grow up in tandem before his eyes.

Eventually the album began to feature the photos of two of them together, some of them sneakily taken (by Trinh, he doubted), but most of them taken by themselves, the camera held at an arm’s length. No matter how formal or casual, however, each photo seemed chosen to tell a story about a particularly meaningful moment in their lives.

The entire album itself, was a testament of their love, and he found himself close to tears.

He couldn’t hold himself back from her love any longer. He pulled her close and kissed her, thinking that this was how it was supposed to be, and this was how he’d keep it, always, forever.

Because he loved her, and he’d never stop loving her.

**********

This is how I always imagine them celebrating Valentine's Day. Nothing too fancy, but just right for the two of them.

Anyway, though, I couldn't love these two more.

And everything was unplanned and only happened because of the request made by Nikh 🙃

Thank you for reading.

Love y'all.

#playchoices #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart #ethanramsey #openheart #fanfiction #choices #open heart 2

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seeyearah · 3 years

Text

COMFORTING RAINY NIGHTS

[Chifuyu Matsuno; Reader Insert]

Hearing the harsh patter of raindrops pouring as soon as you step outside the entrance doors of the company building; swiftly rummaging through the leather briefcase on your left hand. Your face scrunched up, dark brows knitted in confusion. You could have brought your umbrella today only if you were not running late this morning. Sighing in defeat, you stood still; eyes focused on the ground as the rain continued to pour down creating a bunch of small puddles in every drop on the pavement, silently hoping that it would end soon.

You flinched, feeling the low vibration in your skirt pocket coming from your phone; snapping you out from gloomy thoughts about the weather. Fishing the device out from its confines, a single streak of text notification flashed across the screen. Your usual stoic feature and currently gloomy mood immediately softened upon knowing the recipient, and reading the contents of the message.

From: Chifuyu <3

: already finished with ur shift?

To: Chifuyu <3

: Yeah. I am still at the company though.

From: Chifuyu <3

: why?

To: Chifuyu <3

: It's raining. I forgot my umbrella at home.

From: Chifuyu <3

: can you wait for a few minutes?

: i'm on my way, i'll drive you home

To: Chifuyu <3

: Alright. I'll be waiting be at the main door.

You contemplated for a second, thumbs coming in contact with the screen. The blue cursor blinking, waiting for any messages that could convey what you truly feel and think about. Having second thoughts whether you should send your boyfriend the follow up message.

To: Chifuyu <3

: Would you like to stay at my place tonight?

: I love you. :-*

You sighed to yourself, mustering the courage to click the paper plane icon.

Yet you could only grit your teeth in frustration as the screen immediately turned black to her surprise. Shoving your phone back into your skirt pocket in irritation. Fate seemed to know how to play their cards very well.

You gently pulled up the cuff of your blazer jacket; checking your wrist watch for the current time. You can faintly hear the sound of your court shoes tapping on the pavement overlapped by the heavy downpour outside. Without anyone to talk to while waiting, you tried to busy yourself with counting the number of vehicles passing through the road across your location.

"Hey."

An all too familiar voice approched you from behind. You turned your attention towards the man, flashing him a soft smile.

"Let's go?" Chifuyu beamed, swiftly holding her right hand with his left. Other hand holding the umbrella glazing over the two of you together. He led you to the car's passenger seat, opening and closing the door for you, stuffing your briefcase into the backseat. He followed suit inside the car.

The car was filled with silence, with your boyfriend's gaze clearly focused on the street. You bring your attention outside, towards the flashy vehicle and city lights along with the traffic signs that seemed to fade in the mist of the calm rain. Maybe counting a few vehicles that passed one after another has become your hobby to ease the boredom.

"Want to stay in my place tonight?" you blurted out, breaking the comfortable silence. The car slowly came into a halt, you looked forward noticing a red light. You turned towards Chifuyu who now had his attention in you. Left hand still at the steering wheel, slender fingers lightly tapping on it.

"Yeah...sure..." he replied completely nodding along with his words.

"Besides, I wanted to see Peke J again." he continued. As he stepped on the gas pedal, the light in front of you indicating green.

Upon opening your apartment door, you two were instantly greeted by a loud meow. It seems that Peke J has been waiting for your return. The cat immediately climbed into Chifuyu's leg as he lifts it up and embraced it against his chest, nuzzling with its raven fur.

You giggled as the scene unfolds in front you, retreating towards your room to have a change of clothes.

"Oh yeah..."

Getting out of the room in your loose pajamas and oversized shirt, your boyfriend already settled down on the couch with Peke J beside him. He cocked his head towards your direction. You threw him the pair of clothes he left when he came here once. His reaction to the idea of the clothes falling on top of his head slowly vanished, as he instantly caught it in mid air with ease.

"I already washed it, you can go change in the bathroom or something. I'll cook something for dinner."

You heard the bathroom door clicked as you rummaged through your fridge to search for something that is edible aside from junk food and chocolates, simply smiling to yourself after you found the main ingredients tucked behind a few bags of potato chips.

"Here's what we have for today!" you beamed towards the man sitting right in front of you across the small wooden table. He gladly accepted the bowl of ramen with both of his hands.

"Thank you for the food."

Seeing him wearing the same white sweater and plain dark trousers when you both had the first night together, a surge of heat suddenly rose up to your cheeks. You looked down avoiding his gaze.

"Is there something wrong?" he calmly asked as he soon as he saw you looked a bit off than before.

"No, it's nothing... It's just that you seemed to really enjoy the ramen I made."

"Of course! It was you who made it, so it's something special. Besides, you did really improved a lot with your cooking compared from before." he chuckled, remembering how bland your soup tastes within the first time he tried it. Though he still finished his own bowl disregarding its taste, you felt embarrassed upon thinking that he is willing to put up with your average level house skills.

"I--I practiced! Of course I'll improve!" you stood up from your seat feeling more embarrassed as you cleared the plates and utensils on the table.

"I'll wash the dishes. You can go play with Peke J, or watch shows on TV." you turned your back away from him as you head towards the sink. He stood up from his seat, following you suit.

"I'll help." he said grabbing the plate and sponge from your hand and proceeded to scrub them. "You're the one doing the rinsing alright? I can't let you have all of the work by yourself..."

Your eyes felt heavy, slowly blinking in front of the television show trying to keep yourself awake. Yawning as you leaned your head on Chifuyu's shoulders. He sling his arm over your shoulders across the couch, carefully draping a soft blanket over the two of you. You softly smiled, feeling comfortable with his warmth beside you.

"Where's... Peke J..?" you managed to mumble as the faint sound of the movie you are watching slowly fades into the background.

"He is already on his bed sleeping. You should already sleep by now..."

Hearing no response for a few moments, Chifuyu glanced on his right shoulder. His face softens seeing your eyes peacefully closed along with a gentle smile. He reached out for the remote and turned off the cartoon show were both watching. This feeling of warmth during cold seasons is one of best things he loves about being with you. He leaned his face closer to you, placing light kisses on your temple.

"Sweet dreams."

END--

[Notes: This is my first time making something using from the second person point of view lmao. I hope anyone would enjoy my process of learning as much as I do. Your feedbacks are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!]

#tokyo revengers #chifuyu x you #chifuyu matsuno #tokyo revengers chifuyu

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mortuarybees · 5 years

Text

It looks like this:

Crowley stands at the counter in sweatpants and combat boots, muttering to himself as he counts out bills with hands shaking from the release of adrenaline for a bag of chips (he’s always starving after a gig) and a pack of cigarettes (Aziraphale is going to tut at him and refuse to kiss him until he brushes his teeth, but he insists the nicotine will settle him). Aziraphale is beside him, his crisp white collar smudged with lipstick; his cheek and lips are stained red.

(It looks like this:

Crowley does drag every Saturday night, and has for almost twenty years. Aziraphale has been at nearly every one of his shows, and he always sits right by the stage, always stands up to cheer at Crowley’s act, always throws a flower on the stage--when they’re both gainfully employed, he’ll buy one; when they’re not, he’ll pick one, from a rose bush outside a bank or a patch of pansies in the park, or even a weed if he must, never picked from the flowers Crowley keeps on their small and structurally unsound balcony--and when it’s over, he’ll make his way to the green room, and the moment he enters, Crowley will drop his makeup wipe and run to him, fling himself into his arms, pepper his face with kisses, dizzy with the energy of a show, and the other queens will roll their eyes and groan and hide their smiles behind makeup brushes and hands, and sometimes Aziraphale, if his back isn’t bothering him too terribly, will spin him around--he always did when they were younger, but retail is hell on the body--but he’ll always tell him he did wonderfully, he looks beautiful, it was his best show yet, and he says it so earnestly Crowley can’t help but believe him)

He holds the duffel bag with Crowley’s costume in it and his heels, because Crowley is not going to put those wretched things back on; he might’ve strutted home towering over London at twenty-five, but he’s going on forty now, he’s too old for that, and he doesn’t need heels to make his ass look great, thanks. Or so Aziraphale tells him, and that’s the only opinion that matters, he supposes. There’s glitter falling off him every time he moves; it’s in his hairline, and smeared on the bills. The cashier has worked this shift for months now, she’s used to it.

(It looks like this:

Almost every Saturday, on the walk home, Crowley begins complaining that he’s hungry, and Aziraphale will tell him that he told him so, he wanted to bring biscuits but Crowley said no, he’s cutting back on the sweets, it’s all lean greens for him, here on, just you watch, angel, I’m going vegan, and Crowley will whine until he agrees, and they’ll stop at the corner store and Crowley will pick out some junk food or another, admitting he sees now the foolishness of healthy living, who cares about sodium or sugar, everyone dies eventually, if he dies of cheese puffs, he’ll count himself lucky, and sometimes Aziraphale will get a snack cake if he’s feeling peckish, and when they go to the counter, he’ll nonchalantly ask for a pack of smokes. And Aziraphale will remind him, quite archly, that he said he was quitting, and Crowley will say, “I am, angel, just this once, i’ve gotta settle down somehow or i won’t sleep” and Aziraphale will point out he bought a pack last week, and if he isn’t smoking them, why does he need to buy another pack tonight? And Crowley, who is terrible at lying to him, will avoid his eyes and mutter about losing them or Hastur at work bumming off him on breaks, which isn’t technically a lie, the bastard.)

The florescent lights are harsh, and they look all wrong on Aziraphale, who seems to radiate a kind of warm lamplight that contrasts oddly with cold overheads, but Crowley catches his distorted reflection in the locked glass case of cigarettes, and vain as he is, he thinks they look nice on him, making the cut of his cheekbones look harsher than they are, the red of his hair bloody, the hollows between his knuckles dark. His hands look old, he thinks, like he’s lived much longer than he has.

He and Aziraphale make an odd pair, he knows, admiring them in the reflection. Aziraphale, wearing an argyle sweatervest and a plaid tie, in his tweed jacket and corduroys and round glasses; Crowley, sloppily-removed makeup staining his face, in an ONLY ANARCHISTS ARE PRETTY shirt that’s older than the cashier whose screen-printed text can hardly even be read anymore, and his flash Valentino sunglasses he found in a charity shop and loved so much they took out of their savings for, and then of course their AC window unit stopped working two days later in the middle of the heatwave, but Aziraphale swore it was worth it, handsome as he looked in them. They look odd, he knows, but he likes it. He loves it.

The cashier hands him his receipt and his change with his pack of cigarettes, and Crowley holds the door for Aziraphale on their way out. He lights a cigarette, and Aziraphale grouses at him to go and walk on the other side of the street if he’s going to be smoking one of those awful things, but he lets Crowley take his arm, lean his head on his shoulder, even takes a drag when Crowley offers him one, his lips meeting Crowley’s fingers on the filter. He’ll never accept the cigarette if Crowley tries to pass it to him, but he nearly always will if Crowley puts it up to his mouth, holds onto it himself. Crowley doesn’t know why; he still coughs and makes faces and says how awful it is, but he likes it, so he doesn’t ask.

“I wrote tonight’s song for you,” Crowley tells him in the dark street, and Aziraphale huffs a laugh; it’s more well-trod ground between them, familiar and never boring.

“You wrote I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen for me?” Aziraphale teases, and Crowley nods solemnly. “How grand of you, dear, writing me another pop sensation.”

“Gotta tell the whole world,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale rolls his eyes, as if he’s joking, which won’t do, so he says, “I’m serious! I’ll tell everyone, angel,” and he raises his voice to shout into the quiet street, “I really, really, really--”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolds, but he’s laughing, “it’s one in the morning, people are trying to sleep!”

“What’re they dreaming of that’s better than what we’ve got?” Crowley says, and Aziraphale blushes at that, ducks his head to hide his smile, and Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette, pleased with himself, pleased with the man on his arm, pleased with the lipstick on his cheek that matches the stain on Crowley’s mouth, pleased with the glitter on the cigarette where he holds it between two fingers, pleased with the stamp of his old boots echoing in the street.

(It looks like this:

In the morning, Aziraphale will wake up early, bustle around in the kitchen trying his best to be quiet so he doesn’t wake Crowley on his one day off, but the kitchen as small as it is, Aziraphale as clumsy as he is, the walls as thin as they are, it’s a hopeless cause, and he’ll leave for church, and Crowley will roll into the warm spot he left in the bed. He’ll fall back to sleep with his face pressed into the pillow that smells like his shampoo, thinking that it’s a good thing he’s already got everything he might pray for and God had nothing to do with it, or else he might have to get up and go to church with all the other sorry bastards (and Aziraphale, who he thinks prays for inner peace and money and probably begs forgiveness for whatever blasphemy Crowley’s been cheerfully spewing the past week). Really, he thinks the hours are the whole reason he left the church. He could never worship a morning person.

Or at least, given Aziraphale’s tendency to wake at dawn, not another one.)

#henry speaks #i'm emo about them :/#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #henry writes

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

Text

The House on Aspen Street

Switch AU

Hehehehehehe >:3 That’s the sound I made while writing this part. I want to get right to the action so I’m gonna keep this author’s note short. To summarize it, Anti goes to meet Distorter, gets a ride on the way and learns some interesting things about the house he’s going to, and at the end of this meeting, he meets someone new :) Hope you enjoy :)

More of this AU found here

Emergency meeting. Soon as possible.

Jackie read over the message one more time, despite already reading it at least once every hour since Anti sent it to the group chat. When he’d sent it, Schneep had been at work, so it was impossible for all of them to meet immediately. So after some discussion, they’d decided to meet later that night, around eight o’clock. Schneep had volunteered his apartment as the meeting place once he’d actually seen the message, and everyone had agreed.

Now it was approaching meeting time, and Jackie kept rereading the conversation, legs jiggling nervously while he sat on the sofa. Schneep looked over towards him from where he was standing in the kitchenette. “You are just making yourself more nervous the more you stare at that,” he said bluntly.

“I have a right to be nervous,” Jackie muttered. “I mean, you read the whole conversation, right? About what happened with Marvin and everything?”

“Yes, but you should not wallow in it. Like a pig.”

“I’m not a pig,” Jackie said absentmindedly. “If I was an animal, I’d be a...I don’t know, I want to be a kind of dog. Dogs are cool. And you can be one of those big cats, like a cheetah or something. Or should Marvin be the only cat? Cause, you know, he’s definitely one of those. But I think he’s a housecat so maybe it’s different enough. JJ knows a magical animal spell, right? Maybe we could find out.”

Schneep raises an eyebrow. “I see the train of thought is speeding down your tracks.” He leans back, taking a long sip of coffee from the mug in his hand. “But fine. What animal do you think Jamie and Anti would be, then?”

“Well JJ says that when he’s tried the spell he starts to turn into a bird of some sort before actually failing to, uh...do it, or whatever. Can’t get all the way through the spell yet. Anti...I don’t know, I think he’d be a reptile. Like a snake. Or a turtle.”

“He is about as defensive as a turtle sometimes,” Schneep said under his breath.

Jackie laughed.

Before they could continue the conversation, there was a heavy knocking at the door. They glanced at each other, all previous levity disappearing, then Schneep set down the coffee cup and walked over to open the door.

“Hey!” Anti immediately shoved past him and into the room. Marvin followed shortly after, half-leaning on him. “Who’s here? Everyone here?”

“No, JJ isn’t here yet,” Jackie explained. “Uh...Marvin, are you okay?”

“‘m just grand,” Marvin mumbled. “Fuckin’ swanky.”

“He’s been sleeping on and off ever since he showed up at my place this morning,” Anti explained. He walked over to the nearest chair, letting Marvin collapse on the seat. A small green light poked out from Anti’s jacket pocket and flew into the air. Sam. They landed on Marvin’s shoulder and nuzzled against his neck as he rubbed his eyes. “Honestly I don’t blame him.”

“So...it’s all...really happened, then?” Jackie asked fretfully.

“Just like I said in the chat.” Anti sounded irritable. “You think I’d make something like that up?”

“Well...no, I just...” Jackie looked back down at the text conversation on his phone. He shivered. Distorter had been in all their houses by now. Was nowhere safe?

“Do you two need anything?” Schneep asked. “I just made coffee.”

“Yeah, sure,” Anti shrugged.

“No t’anks,” Marvin said. “I prefer tea.”

“You and Jamie and your leaf juice,” Schneep muttered. “It’s because of you I have some in my cupboard. You like mint, yes?”

“Wh—y-yes. T’anks.”

The apartment was silent for a few minutes, except for the sound of Schneep making the drinks. He finished just in time for someone else to start knocking frantically on the door. Anti went to get it this time, pulling it open slowly at first. But the moment the door opened a little it was shoved open the rest of the way as JJ rushed in.

“Mar—!” He gasped, then coughed the moment the first sound left his throat.

“Jems?” Marvin twisted in his seat to look at him. “Ye shouldn’ strain your voice like that.”

JJ hurried over to his side, and gave him a quick, tight hug. He then reached into his shoulder bag to take out a notebook and pen. Are you alright? Hurt? Tired?

“‘m a bit tired, yes, but fine other t’an t’at,” Marvin reassured him. “Bit...bit shaken.”

Nodding, JJ reached into his bag again and pulled out a small box, handing it to Marvin. Thought you might want these. I also brought a pair of headphones, just in case.

“Oh. Oh!” Marvin opened the box from the side, sliding out a deck of cards. “Oh, t’ank you, Jems. You were right, I missed these.” He fanned out the cards, then separated them into two decks and started shuffling them, already looking a bit better.

“Okay, super-ultra-best-friends,” Anti said, closing the apartment door. “Glad to see you’re immediately attached to each other, like always.” He paused. “Sorry for, uh...keeping him at my apartment all day, Jackson.”

It’s fine, couldn’t be helped, JJ wrote. But now I must ask. Why’d you call the meeting? What is this more serious business you were referring to? Because this is already quite serious.

“Right.” Anti walked over, standing closer to the others but still on the outskirts of the circle they’d subconsciously formed. “So. We all know the background of Marvin showing up at my place this morning?”

“Yes. It was him,” Jackie whispered.

Anti paused a moment. “Well, to put it bluntly, yeah. He wanted to deliver a message.”

“Said Anti would listen t’me, not t’him,” Marvin muttered.

“Well that is some faulty logic if I have ever heard any,” Schneep said angrily. “Is still coming from him, either way.”

What was the message? JJ asked.

“An address and a time,” Anti said. “He wanted to see me there, noon in three days. 68 Aspen Street.”

Jackie and Jameson stiffened in unison. “Wait, that’s the—isn’t that—” Jackie stammered. “That’s the ghost family house.”

“Ghost family house?” Marvin repeated, confused.

“Ah, right, you still don’t know,” Anti said. “I told Schneep the story, I think—” Schneep nodded in confirmation. “—but haven’t gotten around to telling you.” Anti folded his arms. Normally he’d relish the chance for a scary story, but right now, he was ready to get to the point. “A whole family of four were killed in that house. Years ago, now, but anyone who tried to live there since then died as well. So it’s basically abandoned. I think someone owns it, but it’s just for like, real estate or some shit like that. No one lives there.”

“Family of four...” Marvin repeated, looking lost in thought. “I t’ink I heard somet’ing about somet’ing like that. Recently.”

“Only a matter of time ‘til you found out,” Anti said dismissively. “It’s a local legend.”

“But you’re not actually going to go to that meeting, are you, Anti?” Jackie asked.

“Uh, well.” Anti hesitated. “That’s sort of why I asked everyone to meet. To discuss this in person.”

Jackie blinked. “You...you can’t be considering it, Anti!” His voice slowly rose higher. “You can’t be trusting anything from him! It’s clearly a trap!”

“Well, yeah, probably,” Anti admitted. “But—”

“But nothing! You can’t listen to him!” Jackie gripped the front of his hoodie tightly. “Doesn’t he want you dead, anyway? He’ll kill you, or worse!”

JJ whistled for attention. Jackie, calm down. We have to think this through. Distorter has a bargaining chip: the kids. We don’t know what will happen to Will and Michelle if Anti doesn’t show up.

Jackie’s face drained of any remaining color.

“What does he even want?” Schneep cried. “Except for some of us dead and others of us worse?”

“Not sure,” Marvin admitted. “I t’ink...he just does t’is. To anyone he can find.”

“So I’m definitely going to the meeting,” Anti said, bringing the subject back around. “But the question is, do any of you want to come too? As backup?”

Silence for a moment. “Well...will something happen if we do?” Schneep asked.

“The message didn’t say anything about other people,” Anti recalled. “It was just the time and address. Um...Marvin?”

“I don’ remember any instructions about t’at,” Marvin replied. “But then again, he might have been plannin’ t’relay instructions of the sort, but then I got snapped out of it before he could. He didn’...really give me orders beforehand. It was like...his voice. In my head.” His eyes go distant. JJ squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to the present, where he started vigorously shuffling the cards again.

“But he probably won’t be happy about it, if someone does show up,” Jackie said. “And he might...the kids...i-it’s not worth it.”

“But we could lose Anti, too,” Schneep argued. “In a much more permanent way.”

“If I have to die to get my son and my goddaughter back, I will,” Anti said, fully determined.

“We might not even get them back,” Schneep said quietly. “We might lose everyone.”

“No. Nope. I’m not going to let that happen.” Anti folded his arms, physically standing his ground. “I say it’s much more risky to have someone else come. He could get angry and do something to the kids if he finds out, and given his freaky thought-sensing powers, I bet he would. I’m gonna go to this ghost house, I’m going to get the kids back, and I’m going to step out alive. Any objections?”

Another moment as silence fell. Everyone else looked at each other, then JJ picked up his pen and wrote, Well, you’ve clearly made up your mind.

“I, uh...well, I didn’t realize I did until now,” Anti said.

“Sometimes you just need someone to bounce your ideas off of,” Schneep said. “So you can figure it out yourself.”

If you’re determined to do this, we won’t stop you, JJ said. We’ll help you with anything you need. The others made various sounds of agreement.

“Thanks,” Anti muttered. Sam hopped from Marvin’s shoulder over to his, stubbornly wriggling into the fabric.

“I t’ink Sam wants to come wit’ you either way,” Marvin chuckled.

“Is that okay?” Jackie worried.

“I think so. They’re not exactly another person.” Anti patted them.

“Well, in that case.” Schneep sighed. “I suppose all there is to do now...is wait.”

———————

The three-day wait was absolute agony, anticipation mounting into a tense anxiety for all of them involved. But the wait passed, far too quickly it seemed like, and around eleven o’clock Anti texted the others to tell them he was leaving to go to the house on Aspen Street. A bit early, but he’d rather not risk missing the deadline.

Unfortunately, he almost did. While on the bus, he was so nervous that he got off at the wrong stop. He found himself on the edge of the neighborhood where Aspen Street was, and walked for about two blocks before realizing something was wrong. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, reaching into his pocket to get his phone. When he pulled it out, Sam came as well. It felt like they were looking at him with a concerned expression as he double-checked the maps app. “Fuck,” he repeated. “It’s 11:45, the next bus won’t be coming for fifteen minutes. And it’s a fifteen minute walk anyway. Fuck, I fucked up. We’re fucked.”

Sam nudged his arm. He looked down at them. “It’s not excessive, not in this situation.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “But if I run I might just barely make it in time.” Sam bobbed, almost like a nod, then hopped onto his shoulder, hanging on tight as he broke into a run.

Anti was a pretty fast runner, but he wasn’t sure he was fast enough. And it had been a while since he’d ran, at least in a dedicated manner. About five minutes later, he had to slow down, ragged breaths tearing at his lungs. “I guess...there’s something to say...about spending most of my time at a computer,” he said under his breath. He took out his phone and double-checked he was going in the right direction.

A car turned onto the street. Anti didn’t look up at it as it passed him. But then it stopped. And reversed. And the window rolled down, accompanied by a voice saying, “Oh my god, Anti?”

“Wh...?” Anti looked over at the car as Sam ducked back into his pocket. His expression soured as he saw who was driving. “Oh hey. Stacy lady.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Heading somewhere,” Anti said vaguely. “Need to be there by noon.”

“It’s 11:51.”

“And it’s nine minutes away. It’s fine.”

Stacy frowned. “Do you...want a ride? I could probably get you there in half the time.”

Anti glared at her. As much as he didn’t like this strange woman who’d inserted herself into their lives, he had to admit time was of the essence. “Sure,” he said reluctantly, walking over to the car. Stacy unlocked the doors and he climbed inside.

“Right.” Stacy started driving again. “Where are you heading?”

“Uh...68 Aspen Street.”

Stacy immediately hit the breaks. She turned to look at him. “Is this a joke?”

“What? No.” Anti blinked, confused. “What the fuck kind of joke would that be? ‘Oh, let’s drive by the ghost house, just for shits and gigg—’”

“Ghost house?” Stacy repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, the ghost house. Well, I guess you wouldn’t know the story, being American and not local and everything.”

“What story?” Stacy prompted.

Anti rolled his eyes and huffed. “Some family died there and now it’s haunted and other people who live there get into accidents and sometimes die. Pretty typical urban legend.” Stacy said nothing for a moment, looking Anti over. It was actually sort of uncomfortable. “Can you stop fucking analyzing me?” He snapped. “Do you think you’re Sherlock Holmes or something?”

“Why are you going to a haunted house, then?” Stacy ignored his comments and pressed on. “Not for ‘shits and giggles,’ if the way you talked about it was any indication.”

“Look, it’s not important. Someone asked to meet me there at noon, and it’s now 11:53, so if you’re not going to drive me just let me know so I can get out and run.”

Stacy sighed, then started driving again. She was going a little over the speed limit, but Anti was fine with that. He took out his phone once again and checked the maps. After a moment, he frowned. “Hey, uh...do you know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” Stacy said shortly.

“Funny, because if you’re not from around here, why would you know how to get to this very specific address?”

Stacy tensed. “Well, I...take a vacation here every year. It’s usually just a week or so, but I extended it this year purely due to you guys’s shenanigans.”

“‘You guys’s shenanigans’,” Anti muttered in an exaggerated American accent. “Why do you even come here every year, anyway? Oh yeah, Mirygale, that one random British city that’s just like every other urban area ever with absolutely nothing notable, I’ll vacation there.”

Stacy gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I have my reasons.”

“They must be damn good reasons. What is it? Sentimental value?”

“Why do you live here?” Stacy snapped. “You’re Irish, shouldn’t you be back in Ireland?”

“I would be, except for living there sucked ass for me personally,” Anti said vaguely. “But I didn’t mean to choose this city when running away, I just ended up here. You choose it, repeatedly, every year.”

“I come here to visit my sister and her kids, okay?!” Stacy finally said, looking over at him.

“Oh. Well, you should’ve just said that from the start.” But something still felt off to Anti. “Where do they live?”

“This place called Spring Oak Park,” Stacy said flatly.

Anti blinked. “Oh. That’s a...oh.” Spring Oak Memorial Park was a cemetery near this part of town. “I’m...sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Stacy inhaled deeply through her nose, letting it out through her mouth. “I guess it was a bit suspicious.”

“Sorry,” Anti mumbled.

A few moments of silence passed. Stacy turned onto another street. “I didn’t know their deaths had become a local ghost story,” she said quietly.

“Wait. They were the ones who—oh my god. I am so fucking sorry.” Anti’s face turned white as he realized why Stacy had reacted the way she had to hearing the address he was going. She must have thought he’d figured out her connection to the house and was mocking her.

“It’s fine,” Stacy said again. “I...don’t really get to talk about it that much. Actually, I met your friend Marvin at the bookstore the other day and just...poured it all out. It was probably a bit awkward for him, he was just working.” She looked a bit guilty about that. “But...nobody really asks. Did they really become a ghost story?”

“Yeah,” Anti said softly. “Pretty famous local one. Cause the story made the news big.”

“It would,” Stacy nodded.

Another few moments of silence. Then Anti couldn’t help but ask, “So...if you’re American, that would mean your sister was, too, right? How’d she get here?”

“College. The local university likes to attract out-of-country students, she and I both got offered a scholarship but only she went. Then she met her boyfriend. They were like...the only two Americans in the whole place, so they got along. Then they got married when they were both barely twenty.” Stacy paused. “Never liked him, honestly. Even before...everything.”

“I could see why,” Anti commented.

“No no no, he wasn’t an asshole or anything, he was actually pretty nice,” Stacy hurried to say. “He just...wasn’t right for Roxy. Really good with kids, but...not in other aspects of being married. One of those types who just didn’t have his life together, you know?” She shook her head. “None of us were expecting...that.”

“Huh.” Anti went quiet, thinking over the information he’d just received.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and at 11:58, Stacy pulled to the side of the road in front of 68 Aspen Street. Anti pushed open the door and hopped out, pausing for a moment before turning around and saying a quiet, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Stacy said. “Want me to stick around for a ride back?”

“No, I don’t know how long this’ll take.” Anti hesitated. “Did you really just stick around this year ‘cause of me and my friends? That just...that’s a bit weird.”

“It is,” Stacy agreed. “But I don’t know...For some reason, you guys seem a bit...familiar. Like you remind me of someone. I just can’t figure out who.”

“Huh.” Anti stepped back. “Well...bye.”

“Bye. Have fun with whatever this is.” Stacy reached over and pulled the door shut, then drove away, soon vanishing from sight.

“‘Have fun’,” Anti repeated. He giggled. “‘Have fun’...I’ll only have fun if I get to put my knife through Distorter’s fucking smile.” Sam popped out of his pocket again and looked at him. “Oh c’mon, Sam, it’s an exaggeration.” Mostly. “Now...we’re here.”

The house at 68 Aspen Street didn’t fit in with its well-kept neighbors. The yard was overrun with plants; plants that had quickly died and were now clumps of yellow in between patches of dirt. The roof was missing shingles and the paint on the walls was grayed and peeling. Dirty windows were blocked up by nailed wooden planks, and the white front door was speckled with spots of brown. Anti slowly walked up the path to the threshold, avoiding the cracks in the paved squares. Once at the front door, he checked his phone, watching the time change from 11:59 to 12:00 exactly. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the rusted knob and opened the door, stepping inside.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. But somehow, it wasn’t a normal living room. Well, mostly normal. It had a sofa and chairs, a coffee table and a couple end tables. Even an old TV, one of the boxy ones. The room was lit up by one of those round ceiling lights, dim and leaving some shadows. There was an attached hallway leading into darkness and an archway leading into another, more lit up room. Mostly normal. Except for the boards over the windows. And the fact that everything was shades of gray. Furniture, carpet, wallpaper, ceiling. All gray. But not like they’d been made that way. Rather, like the color had been drained out of everything.

Anti shivered, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pocket knife and flicking it open. The familiar weight was comforting, made this all feel a bit safer. Taking a deep breath, he walked fully into the living room.

Of course, the moment he was far enough in, the door shut behind him.

Spinning around, he tried to open again, but naturally found it wouldn’t budge. “Fucking...fuck,” he muttered. He glanced into his pocket. “You okay?” Sam wriggled around inside, showing that they were fine. “Great. Well, guess we’re going deeper.”

Not quite wanting to brave the dark hallway yet, Anti walked into the other room through the open archway. This looked like a combination kitchen/dining room. There was a sliding glass door on one wall that had been boarded up similarly to the windows. Once again, it looked pretty normal, except for the lack of color. Oh, and the rope wrapped around the backs of the dining room chairs, the knife gouges in the wooden table, the kitchen knives lined up on the counter, and the bottles of what looked like cleaning supplies dotting the tiled kitchen floor. “What the hell?” Anti whispered.

Unfortunately, this room was a dead end, and nobody was in here, so Anti backed out. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the dark hallway. Guess there was no other option.

He reached over to the wall, tapping it. Sam peeked out, their green glow—was it just him, or was it a bit more faint than it usually was?—helping him look around. Anti patted them, then let out a small gasp as he found a light switch. Flicking it on turned the suspicious hallway into a mostly-normal one. A bit more reassured, Anti set off to explore it.

The hallway turned out to be an L-shape, with doors for five rooms all ajar. Anti checked them as he passed. A gray bedroom, empty except for a single bed in the center with a nightstand next to it. A gray bathroom, the medicine cabinet overflowing with way too many bottles. Another gray bedroom, this time regularly furnished and mostly-normal except for childish drawings of stick figures scrawled on the wall in a dried red-brown liquid. A gray closet, with regular scratches on the inside clustered in groups of five. And one closed, gray door that refused to open.

“Well, shit. That’s all, isn’t it?” Anti looked around. This whole house was...creepy, yes, but also empty. “Hello?” He called out. “I thought you wanted to see me.”

No response. The air felt heavy, like the pressure of many miles of water bearing down on a person stuck deep underneath the surface. It was chilly. Not cold. Just chilly.

With nothing else to explore, Anti decides to turn around and look a second time, see if he missed anything. But nothing in the other rooms had changed at all. And there was still no one else in the house except for him.

By the time Anti returned to the living room, he was very, very confused, and starting to feel the edge of panic creeping up behind him. What would happen if he couldn’t find Distorter? Would he count that as not showing up? “Hey! Give me a clue or something!” He shouted, turning on his heel and running back down the hallway.

When he reached the spot where the hallway turned, the toe of his boot hit something, and he tripped.

“Aack—!” Anti reached out to catch himself, sending a jolt through his hands and up his forearms. “Fuck,” he said, gritting his teeth. Standing up again, he looked at what his boot had been caught on.

In the middle of the hallway, there was a square of the carpet lined in a metal frame. A handle was embedded in it, perfectly fitted so it would be smooth unless you pulled on it. A trapdoor. Had...that been there before? Anti was sure he would’ve noticed it. “What d’you think, Sam?” Anti said, looking down at his pocket.

Sam peeked out, wiggling out a bit so they could look down at the trapdoor. Then they looked up at him. They wiggled again, a bit more slowly this time.

“You don’t know what to make of it, huh? Me neither. I mean, not a lot of houses in cities have cellars. Or basements, whatever. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house with a basement.” Anti hesitated, then bent over to grab the handle. It took more effort than expected, but he managed to pull it open, revealing a wooden ladder leading down into pitch black darkness. “Ohhh fuck that. I’ve consumed enough horror to know that’s where shit goes down.” He took a few steps back. Then punched the nearest wall. “Fuuuuck, that means I probably have to go down there. Shit. Ass. Dicks.”

Sam looked up at him, clearly concerned.

“Alright, fine, Distorter, I’ll play this game,” Anti muttered, reaching into his pocket. Unfortunately, he had to trade his knife for his phone, as he’d only be able to hold one thing while going down that ladder. “Not happy about it. But I’ll do it.” He switched on the flashlight, shining it into the trapdoor. It looked like there was a concrete floor at the bottom. Taking a deep breath, he sat down on the edge of the trapdoor, then once he’d settled his feet on the ladder rungs, he stood up on it. Quickly, he pulled off one of his bracelets and set it down on the trapdoor edge, near the part where it swung. It wasn’t a lot, but it was all he had to make sure the trapdoor didn’t close like the front door did. Then, carefully, reluctantly, he started descending.

Landing on the floor, Anti shined his phone flashlight around. Light reflected off a pair of concrete walls to either side, and complete darkness in front and back. Another hallway. Anti crept up to the wall, reaching out and looking for a light switch of some kind. Nothing. Just cold cement. “Hey Sam? You mind helping out?”

Sam wriggled out of his pocket, flew into the air, and hovered for a few seconds. Then their light flickered and they fell to the ground, dropping like a brick.

“Sam!” Anti knelt down and scooped them up again. Their light was still there, but much dimmer, barely bright enough to see. They looked up at him and weakly wagged their tail.

“Shit,” Anti muttered. “Okay, nevermind. You don’t have to help. Just rest up.” He placed them back in his jacket pocket. “Guess this place does something to you.” Honestly? He could see why. The atmosphere had suddenly thickened the moment he climbed down the ladder, bearing down oppressively. But he shook it off for now, and headed forward down the hallway, shining the light from his phone flashlight ahead of him.

And he just walked.

And walked.

And after what felt like five minutes, he had to stop. “This is impossible,” he said to himself. If the hallway was this long, it would extend into the street, and that would interfere with piping and other underground municipal matters. He couldn’t have really been walking this long. Was he just going in a circle or something? And why hadn’t there been any rooms or branching halls? There had to be an answer...there had to be an answer...

Anti shook his head. He’d spaced out for a moment there, and had to struggle to come back to reality. Like...like some sort of brain fog. Edging its way into his mind against and clouding it up. Dragging him down. No, he had to keep walking. Eventually, the hallway had to end.

It felt like ten minutes passed before he finally did reach that end of the hall. Another concrete wall blocked his way forward, and despite shining his light all over it, he couldn’t see any sort of hidden doorway or window or anything. Stepping backwards, he sighed. Guess he went the wrong way of the two directions.

Someone laughed.

No, not just someone. Anti stiffened and spun around. He’d recognize that laughter anywhere. “Will?” He called. “Where are you, bud?” No response. Anti hesitated. This was surely a trap. But he couldn’t turn away. That was his kid. “Will?!” He started walking again, a bit faster than before but not as fast as he would have liked.

More laughter, children giggling. It sounded like more than one. “Will?! Michelle?! Are you here?!” He tried to pick up the pace, but in doing so, his toe hit something and caused him to fall. Unable to catch himself this time, he hit the ground hard enough to make his bones ache. The phone went flying out of his hand, somehow turning off, as if the darkness snuffed out its light.

“Shit,” Anti groaned. He got to his hands and knees and started patting the ground to look for the phone. But he couldn’t find it anywhere.

His hand ran into something else, though. Immediately snatching it up, he turned it over a couple times, fiddling with it, until suddenly a tiny flame appeared. A lighter. What was that doing here? He hadn’t seen it on the way here. And now, using this new source of light, he still couldn’t see his phone anywhere. Swearing under his breath, he stood up. He patted his jacket pocket to make sure Sam was still alright—they were there, but not moving, which was worrying—and then pulled his knife out of his pants pocket, holding it in front of him defensively as he slowly started walking again.

This felt...familiar. Had he had a dream like this once? Or was it just because his head was slowly spinning?

The sound of the children’s laughter echoed through the hall, getting louder, getting closer. “Will?! Michelle?!” He shouted, voice cracking. Nothing. Just more laughter. He blinked back sudden tears in his eyes—wait, he was crying? He never cried.

There was a turn in the hallway. A turn that appeared before the trapdoor to the house did. But...he hadn’t turned on the way down here. Cautiously, he peered around the corner.

This was not a dark endless hallway. Rather, it ended in a doorway. Beyond which came a crimson glow. And there was someone standing there. A dark silhouette. Anti’s vision blurred and wavered as he felt the floor tilt beneath his feet. “Who’s there?”

The silhouette turned around, the head tilting unnaturally far to the side. A white grin reflected the red light. It felt like his ears were ringing. His eyes were leaking.

“Where are they?!” He cried. “What do you want from me?!”

The sight before him smeared. The silhouette moved closer, then farther, then closer again in an unnatural way. He couldn’t tell how far away it was until a hand reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, nails easily tearing at the cloth. “What do you think?” A voice hissed, completely unrememberable.

Anti swallowed nervously, leaning backwards. “It’s you,” he said quietly.

“Of course it’s me!” Distorter giggled. “What were you expecting? You knew why you came here, right?”

He tried to shine the light from the lighter at Distorter’s face, but somehow, it never lit up any details. “Yes. I do. You wanted to see me. Why? Where are the kids, you fucking nightmare?!”

“They’re fine. Nice kids.” Distorter let go of Anti’s shirt, but stayed just as close to him. “You know what I think? I think they should stay here forever. Their parents should come, too. That includes you! What do you think? Instead of killing you, I could let you be my friend.”

“I’d rather you kill me,” Anti muttered.

“Because death is a more familiar concept to you?” Distorter slid his finger across his throat. “You hide the scar well, but I’ve seen that memory. Does anyone think it’s weird how your neck is always covered?”

Anti froze for a moment, starting to reach upward before stopping, remembering how he was still holding his knife. “Shut the fuck up!” He suddenly roared, and lunged forward with the blade. To his surprise, Distorter didn’t dodge at all, and the hit landed squarely on his shoulder with a surprising and sickening crack!

“Oh.” Distorter looked down, disinterested in the way the blade was lodged in his shoulder. “What a reaction. Anger’s always how to respond, isn’t it? How lucky is your kid, that he’s never seen a response like that?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Anti repeated, though his voice now shook. “You dare—stupid—I’m not an asshole. I know how to control myself.”

“Now.” Distorter emphasized.

“I would never—never—if you can see into my head, you know this. You’re trying to fuck with me.” Anti staggered backwards, pressing a hand to the side of his head as it spun. “Stop it.”

“But it’s so much fun. And it’s all a worthless piece of trash like you is good for, anyway.” Distorter laughed again in pure delight. “But you’re right, we have to move on to business, don’t we? Why do you think you’re here?”

Anti couldn’t hold back a hysterical laugh. “What is this, a job interview?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Distorter put a hand on the side of his head, grabbing his hair and pulling his head to the side until his neck cracked. “Well, that’s fine. I’ll tell you. You see, even though these kids are wonderful to have around, I’m starting to realize that I’m not equipped to keep them yet. So I’ve decided to give them back. In exchange for something else.”

“Something else?” Anti repeated. His mouth felt suddenly dry, but he pressed on. “What, do you want...me? I-if that’s the case, fine, you can have me, just leave the kids alone.”

“Oh, so selfless! Or maybe it’s just that you know you’ll just die alone anyway, so you think it’s best to give yourself up for a worthwhile cause.”

“I—”

“But that’s not what I want.” Though Distorter’s smile never faded, his tone was cold.

Anti blinked. “Then...what?”

Distorter didn’t answer, just continued to stare and smile. Laughter echoed through the hallway. More children’s laughter, too much to come from just two children. It grew louder, closer, until it was a shrieking cacophony. Anti looked around frantically but there was nothing to make this sound. Tears and blood flowed from his eyes. In an effort to make it stop, he pressed both hands to his ears, dropping the lighter in the process.

It clattered against the floor. In the couple seconds before the flame winked out, he saw Distorter’s blackened hand reach out, his grinning, dripping face coming closer.

———————

Sunlight was seeping through his closed eyelids. Something was tickling his face and hands. A couple hard, small things pressed uncomfortably into his stomach where he was lying down. In short, he figured out he was outside, on the ground, somewhere with grass and rocks. His head...hurt. Not just a little ache, but a piercing pain attacking from all angles. Squeezing his eyes, he rolled onto his back and covered his face with an arm, hoping that blocking the light would help. It did not.

Something nudged his shoulder. Sam, probably. He paid them no mind. Right now, he didn’t want to get up like they were undoubtedly urging him to. “Mmm..no’ now,” he said, the simple two words coming out slurred. He was too tired from...from...why was he tired?

“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice shouted. “Are you okay?”

Anti groaned. “Fucking marvelous.”

“Yeah, you really look it.” The voice belonged to a man. And Anti was surprised to recognize an Irish accent. “Want me to call someone?”

Gritting his teeth, Anti pulled his arm away from his face and opened one eye, squinting in the direction the voice was coming from. For a moment, the bright sunlight blinded him, before he picked out the slightly darker silhouette of a man a few feet away, getting closer. “No, I want you to fuck off.”

“Wow. Okay. Just trying to help.” The man stopped approaching, holding up his hands in the international gesture of ‘I mean no harm.’ “Thought you might—Sam?”

“Sam?” Anti lifted his head up a bit, glancing down to notice Sam joyfully bouncing on the ground next to him. They leaped into the air and flew over to the man, circling him a couple times before landing in his outstretched hand.

“Sam!” The man repeated happily. “There you are!” He brought Sam up to his face, where they nuzzled his cheek. “I was so fucking worried! Next time, don’t wander off on your own, okay? No matter how important it is.”

“Wait...what’s going on?” Anti finally managed to sit up and open both eyes, blinking a bit to get used to the sunlight. It looked like he was in the park, lying in an open patch of grass quite a ways away from any of the park’s paths. The man who Sam had flown up to was standing nearby. He was wearing a red shirt, black jacket, and jeans, and his hair was dyed a highlighter-bright shade of green. Blue eyes glanced over towards Anti, looking him over from behind a pair of glasses. The man also looked a lot like him, but not in the way that all his friends who looked like him did. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Jack,” the man introduced himself. “Jack McLoughlin. Sam says you’ve been taking care of them. Thank you so much!”

“Wh...Sam ‘says’? But...they’re an eye.” Was he hallucinating? Was that it? Did he eat or drink something laced with drugs without him knowing? Did Distorter decide to send him off with a confusing illusion?

“Well, yeah, but we share a connection, see? I can understand them.” Jack patted Sam, who flicked their tail happily at the contact. “For example, they say your name is Anti.”

“Hey!” Anti glared at Sam. “Don’t just tell people that!”

“Oh, they say sorry. They thought it was alright.” Jack tilted his head, brow furrowing in confusion. “You know...you kinda look like me. Except for the eyes. Are we related?”

“Definitely not.” Anti tried to stand up, then cried out as the movement caused his headache to intensify. His hands shot up to press against the sides of his head in a vain effort to make it stop.

“Dude, you’re clearly not alright,” Jack said, clearly concerned. He almost reached out, but then Sam swatted his arm and he stopped. “Can I call you a ride or something? Like an Uber?”

“We don’t have Uber here,” Anti said through clenched teeth. “Not Lyft, either. Just public transport.”

“Ah. Shit. Well I can walk you to the bus stop, then?”

Anti really didn’t want to accept help from some random stranger, but his head really, really hurt. And this person was apparently Sam’s original...owner? No, that sounded weird. Friend. Sam’s friend. And Sam was alright, so he probably was, too. “Fine,” Anti muttered. “Give me a second.” He slowly climbed to his feet, keeping his vision low to the ground so the light wouldn’t make his headache worse.

“Alright. Take your time.” Jack waited patiently. “You, uh...want to lean on me or something?”

No, he didn’t want to, but he probably had to. Silently, Anti walked the few steps closer to Jack and ended up half-falling on him.

“Whoa, careful.” Jack smiled encouragingly. “What happened, anyway? Sam won’t tell me.”

“Uh...I don’t...remember.” That was probably a bad sign. He remembered walking into the house on Aspen Street, finding that basement, walking down a long, dark hallway, and confronting Distorter, who said he would let the kids go. But after that? Nothing.

“Ah, one of those things. Well, it’s alright, we’ll just take it slow.” Jack looked around. “I think the bus stop is...this way. C’mon.”

The two of them ended up walking to the stop and waiting in silence. Once the bus came, Anti let Jack come with him to the stop closest to his apartment building, as well as help him walk the few blocks to the building itself, but refused to let him come inside. Jack backed down, then wrote his phone number on a spare napkin and gave it to Anti, telling him to call if he needed anything else. Then he left, Sam flying along with him.

Anti managed to take the elevator up to his apartment and get inside on his own. He then headed straight to the sleeper sofa, still in bed mode, and collapsed, curling up into a ball and holding his head.

What had happened in that visit? Why couldn’t he remember? He’d lost his phone, so he couldn’t call anyone to see if Will was really back with the others. All he could do was lie there and hope the strange headache subsided.

Eventually, he fell asleep, suffering strange, feverish dreams of a red-lit hallway and a smiling figure reaching out to grab him.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #programmer anti #chase brody #distorter #all the boys show up but those two are the most important so im sticking to them #brigid writes fanfiction #septicswitchau

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sxveme-2 · 3 years

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Thirty: The One With His View

Warnings: Weight loss

Word Count: 2376

Bucky's POV

Bucky sat in his bed with his arm laying detached beside him. His eyes stared down at the photo of Hunter and Lily on the beach, Joey there with them. His glassed over eyes focused on that bright beaming smile on the blonde's lips. One he hadn't seen in person for over a month now. One that he only saw in his dreams at night, or in the photos on his phone.

Scattered around his apartment were printed photos of her that he had taken. The day after she broke up with him he had them printed out, just to have her in his hands once more. Her bright eyes crinkled at the sides as he took sneaky photos of her, ones he only showed her the night he took them, to avoid her from dodging him. She always hated having her photo taken, but he just couldn't help himself.

She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

He ran a shaky hand through his grown out hair, tugging gently on the roots, just as she always did. He ran those same hands down the front of his face, his overgrown facial hair scratching the callouses that he earned over the years. Glancing down at his phone, the brunette sighed. May 3rd. Her birthday was tomorrow. He could only take a guess how she was celebrating it.

Her and Hunter probably sitting on the couch with Chinese, Gen and Rose occupying the other sofa as a cheesy rom-com played on the TV. When Hunter went to bed, she'd probably change it to a horror movie. He never understood how she enjoyed them so much. To Bucky, horror movies were something he could never get on board with, yet Lily adored them so much, he would sit there with her. He would typically end up curled into her side, wincing whenever there was a loud noise from the screen.

But she'd never say anything about it. She'd just chuckle and call him a "big ol' baby", and kiss the top of his head before throwing more popcorn in her mouth.

Her favourite was The Nun. Bucky despised it. Whether it be her desensitization to it, or her strange love for things that made her yelp in fear, she would watch it so often. Eventually, Bucky actually opened his eyes for some of the more scary parts. But he always ended up curled into her side once more, breathing in her scent to sooth him. She'd never watch ones that were more so thriller based, the psychological ones that messed with peoples heads and typically involved person to person violence though. He knew she watched them alone, but wouldn't with Bucky.

Because he told her what they did to him mentally. So she didn't. Because his comfort was always her main priority, especially with his trauma.

The alarm on his phone blared, sending a jerk through his body. Glancing down, Bucky groaned. He had therapy in half an hour, which meant he had to leave now. He'd managed to dodge the conversations about Lily with his therapist, but the Doctor knew that. Which meant, sooner or later, she would pry and get him to open up about his heartbreak.

-----

"Lily was her name, right?" Dr. Raynor asked, tilting her head as she stared down the man across from her.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it." Bucky stated simply, readjusting in his seat on the couch.

"Mmm you said that a month ago. Then again three weeks ago. Then again two-"

"I get it."

Bucky knew that his luck would go against him. Of course Dr. Raynor would bring her up the day before her birthday. As her present sat heavy in his coat pocket. He'd carried it around with him for the past month, never letting it far from his sight. So much sat inside of the case, begging for her.

"She has a son. I have that here in the notes. You loved him, and even saw him as your own," the Doctor began, crossing her legs, "did you imagine having a family with her yourself, James?"

"We were a family already," he stated softly, voice cracking halfway through, "from the moment I first stayed at her house, we were a family."

"Let me rephrase," Dr. Raynor continued, tilting her head, "did you imagine having a child of your own with her?"

Yes. The answer was yes. He pictured it in his head whenever he saw her with Hunter, or pictures of her with Hunter when he was a baby. What Bucky would have given to be there for her then, to have been Hunter's father since birth. But he took what he could. Instead, he imagined her pregnant with his child. They'd talked about it briefly. Both agreeing they'd love to have a little girl, name her Stella, or Amelia, something classic. They even tossed Rebecca back and forth, for Bucky's sister. In the end they decided on Rose-Rebecca for a middle name instead. For a boy, they came up with Wyatt or Theo, with Steve as the middle name.

They'd imagine their home. Somewhere in the countryside, a large backyard for Hunter and their other kid. A dog or two, maybe even a cat. Lily wasn't fussy on the idea of cats, not their biggest fans. But Bucky always wanted one.

"You told me two months ago you planned on retiring," Dr. Raynor commented, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Was that to settle down with her? And start that family of your own?"

"Yes." He stated, voice loose and breathy.

"Did you end up following through with it?"

"Yes."

"How do you spend your days now?" she pushed, trying to get the truth out of him.

"I volunteer at the old folks home near my apartment," he answered honestly, sighing as he spoke, "Tony offered me a job at the tower but I'm not sure I want to take it."

"What was the job?"

"Talking to retired veterans, young and old." He stated softly, fiddling with his gloves.

"Does Lily know this?"

He shook his head. He'd debated calling her over the last few weeks. Wondering if she'd even pick up. He drove past her street once, before doubting himself and refusing to ever step foot near there again. Too much pain followed when he realized he wouldn't have anywhere to go on that street. He wasn't allowed back at her place, not after she told him to get out, and said goodbye. With her back to him.

"Have you had any contact with her son?"

"No. No, I won't do that to him," Bucky whispered, voice failing him, "I couldn't. He deserves happiness, and peace. It's not for me to contact him."

"And her sister, you said she was pregnant a while back," she continued, "what about her?" He shook his head again, prompting her to continue, "And...Gen. I think that was her name. Her best friend. Anything?"

Another shake of his head.

"Hand me your phone."

Bucky sighed and tossed the device over, watching the Doctor swiftly catch it and turn it on. Her eyes softened when she saw his lockscreen. Bucky stared down at his lap, knowing what she saw. On his lockscreen, Lily stood on a balcony, a grey suit jacket on and a white lace dress. The sun shined bright on her face as she leaned her head back, blonde hair dancing in the wind. Her smile was slight, as she enjoyed the feeling of the sun. He took it when they were at his apartment in October, on a particularly warm day. She raided his closet and took the jacket.

She still had it.

"She's beautiful." Dr. Raynor stated, swiping up to unlock the phone. A tear fell down Bucky's cheek. His home screen was different, but still Lily.

Lily and Hunter were asleep on the couch, Joey curled at the base of the couch. Bucky had come over for dinner to find them like that. So he draped a blanket over the two and got to work on the food in the kitchen. Not daring to disturb the two. He always loved seeing her asleep. The stress lines he adored along her forehead and cheeks disappeared, her face was calm and supple. Her lips slightly parted slightly and eye lashes laid against her slightly flushed cheeks.

"Cute kid," Raynor commented, moving on to his messages, "You've ignored everyones texts James. Only Sam and Steve seem to be getting an answer from you. If you can even call it that."

"They mostly come over unannounced to my apartment," Bucky said gravely, shifting once again, "typically to force me into this exact same conversation we're having."

Tossing his phone back, the doctor sighed, "When did you realize you had fallen in love with her?"

"I couldn't tell you, Doc," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "there were so many times where I would just look at her and know. Know that she would have an unspoken power over me."

"Tell me more about her."

Bucky knew where to start. He began by talking about her appearance, all walls he had up disappearing after the doctor saw just how much he was still in love with her. He began with her hair. Describing it as something that he could play with for days on end. It was always soft and was bright and reminded him of the sun. Her eyes were a deep amber hazel with flecks of green in certain lights. Her skin was bright and boisterous, always seemingly full of life when he was around. Her nose was something that he could only describe as sculpted. A strong ridge with a dip near the top. Her lips were that of a love song. Soft and welcoming, seemingly molded to his own. A beautiful cupid's bow that had him longing to kiss her from the moment he saw her for the first time.

Her body was something Bucky could barely voice. A simple figure, dips and curves. Gentle stretch marks along the thicker parts, her hips, her thighs. Her stomach and waist was his favourite thing next to her hands. Her stomach had small marks along the bottom where she grew to carry Hunter. He would typically wake her up on weekends by kissing those marks, reminding her of the beauty. Her hands were gentle and calloused from years of hard work. But always so gentle, skilled fingers that would trace simple patterns along his skin and run through his hair.

He left out the explicits.

Her personality though. Bucky didn't know where to start. He was rendered speechless when he got to it. But he started with the dirtier parts. The harsher parts of her that he didn't always enjoy, but loved more than anything else. She was snappy, and had an affliction with everything being perfect. She was controlling, and never let him lead her through different things. Sometimes she wouldn't listen, and focus on that dark voice that plagued her head instead of listening to him. But she was kind. Kinder to him than anyone. She would sit him down some nights and point out all that she loved about him. She was warmhearted, and never let herself see the bad in people. Her mind was something that fascinated him beyond words. She was a quick thinker, always ready with a comeback or some fact he probably didn't need, but loved to hear anyways.

When he became coherent to his words again, he felt the warm tears flooding his cheeks rapidly. Something that only ever happened in the confines of his own apartment, away from everyone else. But this time, he spoke. Three simple words that shattered his heart.

"She was mine."

-----

Standing in his kitchen, Bucky used his flesh hand to mix the blueberries into the batter in the black mixing bowl on the counter. He wasn't sure what possessed him to make these today of all days, but he did.

The lock on his door turning made the brunette sigh. Steve or Sam, or both even, were here. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to get the peace and quiet he wanted for the day. Ignoring the struggle, Bucky poured the batter into circles on the skillet, smiling at the sizzle they made. Something Lily said was what he wanted. He watched intently, waiting for the bubbles to begin popping. When the door swung open, he chuckled. They figured it out.

"I told you to turn it that way first," Sam muttered to Steve as the two walked in, "but nooo Mr. America had to do it his way."

"Former, Mr. America." Steve corrected, shutting the door.

"And now Mr. Pain-in-my-ass." Bucky sighed, flipping the pancakes before turning to face the two men standing near his kitchen.

"Hey Buck," Steve smiled softly, walking forward, "How're you feeling?"

"Well it's 2 o'clock and cyborg is making pancakes. So either he's so old he's losing his mind, or he's not doing great." Sam grinned walking over to the counter and leaning on it.

"I've had a long month." Bucky smiled tightly, flipping the pancakes onto a plate beside him.

"You could call her." Steve offered, stealing a blueberry from a container.

"She doesn't want to talk to me." Bucky muttered, covering his pancakes in butter and icing sugar. Just as she used to in the mornings for him.

"You sure about that?" Sam whispered, eyes staring down Bucky.

Bucky shook his head and grabbed his utensils and orange juice before walking past the two into the living room. He sat down, turning on the TV and trying his hardest to ignore the heavy stares of his best friends from the other end of the room. He knew they were here for a reason. It could be the fact it was her birthday and Bucky had plans to make it special for her a month ago. Or it could be to pester him. Or even if something happened they won't tell him. The last was his best guess.

"I'm guessing by your annoying stares," Bucky sighed, turning his attention to the men, "You're not here for pancakes."

13 notes · View notes

alexlamia · 3 years

Note

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?

2. You talked to an ex today, correct?

3. Have you taken someones virginity?

4. Is trust a big issue for you?

5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?

6. What are you excited for?

7. What happened tonight?

8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted?

9. Is confidence cute?

10. What is the last beverage you had?

11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust?

12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?

13. What are you gonna do Saturday night?

14. What are you going to spend money on next?

15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed?

16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?

17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?

18. The last time you felt broken?

19. Have you had sex today?

20. Are you starting to realize anything?

21. Are you in a good mood?

22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks?

23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?

24. What do you want right this second?

25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?

26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color?

27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?

28. What was the last thing that made you laugh?

29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now?

30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?

31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to?

32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do?

33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda?

34. Listening to?

35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore?

36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is?

37. Do you believe in love at first sight?

38. Who did you last call?

39. Who was the last person you danced with?

40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?

41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake?

42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today?

43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?

44. Do you tan in the nude?

45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss?

46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?

47. Who was the last person to call you?

48. Do you sing in the shower?

49. Do you dance in the car?

50. Ever used a bow and arrow?

51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?

52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?

53. Is Christmas stressful?

54. Ever eat a pierogi?

55. Favorite type of fruit pie?

56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

57. Do you believe in ghosts?

58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?

59. Take a vitamin daily?

60. Wear slippers?

61. Wear a bath robe?

62. What do you wear to bed?

63. First concert?

64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?

65. Nike or Adidas?

66. Cheetos Or Fritos?

67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

68. Favorite Taylor Swift song?

69. Ever take dance lessons?

70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?

71. Can you curl your tongue?

72. Ever won a spelling bee?

73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?

74. What is your favorite book?

75. Do you study better with or without music?

76. Regularly burn incense?

77. Ever been in love?

78. Who would you like to see in concert?

79. What was the last concert you saw?

80. Hot tea or cold tea?

81. Tea or coffee?

82. Favorite type of cookie?

83. Can you swim well?

84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?

85. Are you patient?

86. DJ or band, at a wedding?

87. Ever won a contest?

88. Ever have plastic surgery?

89. Which are better black or green olives?

90. Opinions on sex before marriage?

91. Best room for a fireplace?

92. Do you want to get married?

🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈

🦇 🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️ 🧛🏻‍♀️

🐈 🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈

🐈‍⬛ 🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

Damn 😳

1. Yes.

2. Yes.

3. No.

4. Yes.

5. Yes.

6. Fall and Halloween 🎃

7. Nothing, really. Just hanging out with my cat.

8. No.

9. Yes.

10. Sweet tea 🫖

11. Three.

12. No. 👖

13. Probably stay in my room with my cat.

14. Maybe Halloween decor or art supplies 😂

15. Yes.

16. God, I hope so.

17. My partner and my best friend.

18. I feel broken every day 🤷🏻‍♀️

19. No 😒

20. No.

21. Yes.

22. No.

23. Yes. 😂

24. A lot of things.

25. Nothing. 🤷🏻‍♀️

26. Yes. I’ve never dyed my hair.

27. No.

28. A funny video that my brother send me.

29. Yes. 😞

30. Yes.

31. No.

32. Yes ❤️

33. Hell no! I love soda.

34. Not listening to anything right now, but I normally listen to country music. lol 😂

35. No. Just draw outlines in pencil. ✏️

36. Yes.

37. Yes.

38. My Dad.

39. I’ve never danced with anyone.

40. I love them, and I was leaving to go home.

41. My birthday.

42. Yes.

43. Yes.

44. No.

45. No.

46. Yes.

47. My mom.

48. Yes.

49. No.

50. Yes.

51. In high school.

52. No.

53. A little bit.

54. Yes! 😋

55. Is rhubarb a fruit? If not, then Apple.

56. A singer or an archeologist.

57. Yes. 👻

58. Yes.

59. No.

60. Yes. 🥿

61. No.

62. An old t-shirt and shorts.

63. It was either a Faith Hill concert or a George Strait Concerts.

64. Target! 🎯

65. Nike.

66. Tough decision, but Fritos.

67. Sunflower seeds!

68. Anther tough one! Probably “Love Story”.

69. No.

70. No.

71. Yes. 👅

72. No. Came close, though.

73. Yes. 🥲

74. “The Vampire Lestat” by Anne Rice.

75. Yes.

76. Yes.

77. Yes.

78. Depeche Mode. Guns N’ Roses. Slipknot. AC/DC, but I don’t think they’re doing that anymore.

79. Blake Shelton.

80. Cold tea 🫖

81. Coffee ☕️

82. Chocolate chip 🍪

83. No. 😬

84. Yes.

85. Yes.

86. Band.

87. Yes.

88. No.

89. Green. 🫒

90. Yea. Do it.

91. Every room would be cool, but if I can only pick one, it would be the living room.

92. Yes 💖 Although, I doubt anyone would want to marry me.

#asks #anon

2 notes · View notes

flirting-with-psychology · 3 years

Text

🌸✨WILDFLOWER-APOLLO’S 300 FOLLOWERS SPECIAL✨🌸

LETS GET PERSONAL!

1. what’s your full name?

2. when’s your birthday?

November 26

3. what does your URL mean?

I like psychology and I like thinking about crushes

4. who’s your celebrity crush? T

om Hiddleston

5. are you single or taken?

Taken

6. rant. let it all out babe.

Fuck jobs fuck capitalism

7. are you named after anyone?

My grandmother

8. do you have or want children? if so, how many?

Possibly, if so then 2

9. do you relate to any fictional characters?

Yeah, several. The ones that come to mind are Gatsby and Queen Regina

10. do you have any plants?

Yes

11. what are you currently wearing?

A jumper

12. describe your aesthetic in emojis.

I’m on my laptop lol, not gonna try to do a survey on my phone

13. do you have any bad habits?

Oh yes. Procrasting, instant gratification, being late, eating like crap, obsessing over stuff

14. what’s your sexuality?

Mostly straight

15. what’s the last song you sang?

Currently singing The Rose Song from HSMTMTS

16. what are your favorite colors?

Pink, green, blue

17. are you and introvert, ambivert, or extrovert?

Ambivert

18. describe your current mood in emojis.

Again, laptop

19. is there anyone you’d do anything for?

Probably not anything

20. what fascinates you?

Random stuff, currently chemistry, music, crafts, and space

21. favorite artists?

Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo

22. what outfit makes you feel confident?

Fancy dresses

23. favorite flower?

Idk

24. favorite season?

Fall

25. favorite tv show/movie?

TV show: Friends. Movie: Back to the Future

26. what do you like in a person?

Sense of humor, easy to talk to, common interests, attractive

27. least favorite color?

Idk maybe like muddy yellow

28. first crush?

Aidan in kindergarten

29. how long do you usually sleep?

When I don’t set an alarm, till like 1pm

30. what celebrity do people say you look like?

None really. I think I look like Lea Michele but I’m probably not that pretty

31. favorite scent?

Citrus

32. do you have/want any pets? if so, how many?

I don’t have any currently, I have had 4 cats and I want to get another cat

33. what color is your hair naturally? if you could dye it any color, what would it be?

Brown, I want to try a red ombre

34. do you have a good relationship with your parents?

Pretty good

35. do you take a yearly vacation?

36. what is your biggest fear?

Spiders

37. what do you wear to bed?

PJs or a nightgown

38. best memory?

Idk

39. best feeling you’ve ever experienced?

Probably when everyone liked my video or jokes, or when a crush likes me back

40. best gift you’ve ever received?

Half of the cost of my car

41. what’s your skincare routine?

Wash it once a day, rinse face twice a day, moisturize

42. favorite book?

Harry Potter

43. favorite song?

All Too Well by Taylor Swift

44. favorite album?

It changes a lot, currently Sour by Olivia Rodrigo

45. share your playlist or a playlist you love!

Nah

46. dream destination?

I’d like to visit Ireland

47. best subject? favorite subject, least favorite?

Best was probably math, favorites were science and arts, least favorite was english

48. do you prefer baggy, loose, or tight clothes?

Semi-loose but with some form

49. punk or pastel?

Pastel

50. search your name + core on pinterest & make a moodboard!

Nah

51. if you could travel back to any time period, what would it be & why?

Medieval because i think it’s cool

52. do you have any piercings?

Just my ears

53. do you have any tattoos?

54. do you have any siblings?

55. are your parents together or divorced?

Divorced

56. do you have any stepparents or step-siblings?

57. are your parents strict?

My mom was kinda

58. do you have a set bedtime?

No lol

59. what state do you live in?

Colorado

60. what are your sun, moon, & rising signs?

Idk, I just know I’m a sagittarius

61. do you share any traits with your signs?

Idk, they’re pretty generic so that everyone feels like it describes them

62. what’s a song that gets you going?

Depends on my mood

63. sweet or sour?

Sweet

64. soft or hard tacos?

Idk, I don’t eat tacos too much

65. what color are your bedroom walls?

Pink and green

66. the color/design of your bedsheets?

Turquoise

67. favorite thing to drink out of?

A glass

68. socks or bare feet around the house?

Bare feet

69. favorite board game?

Lately Dead of Winter

70. favorite video games?

Among Us, Detroit Become Human

71. do you sleep with the fan on or off?

72. do you sing in the shower?

Yes

73. favorite song to belt at the top of your lungs when alone?

Satisfied from Hamilton

74. last thing you cried to?

Being stressed over job hunting

75. have you tried any alcoholic beverage before?

Yes

76. gum or breath mints?

Gum

77. favorite pair of shoes you own?

The pink wedges

78. how many pairs of shoes do you own?

Way too many, probably like 30 at least

79. what is the natural state of your hair?

A little wavy

80. have you had braces? if yes, how long?

Yes, for 4 years

81. makeup or natural?

Makeup

82. are you a competitive person?

I can be

83. favorite pasta dish?

Pasta with cheese

84. favorite kind of chips?

Ruffles cheddar and sour cream

85. talk about something your passionate about!

Idk if I’m passionate abot anything

86. what are some of your hobbies?

Crafts, DnD, shopping

87. do you drink coffee? if so, how do you like it?

88. favorite kind of pizza?

White pizza with pineapple

89. favorite & least favorite labels that have been put on you?

Idk what labels have been put on me

90. are you religious?

91. were you raise religious?

Not really

92. what shoe size do you wear?

7.5-8

93. heroes or villains?

Depends on the character

94. favorite vegetable?

Corn

95. least favorite vegetable?

Broccoli probably

96. favorite dessert?

Chocolate

97. do you play any sports?

98. can you swim? if so, when did you learn how to?

Yes, when I was little

99. tell a funny story!

Idk

100. what job would you be terrible at?

Doctor or politician

101. what’s your favorite compliment to give?

Compliment their clothing or accessories

102. has your opinion changed on something recently?

I’m evaluating my opinion on how cautious I need to be for covid

103. favorite physical feature about yourself?

Maybe eyes

104. what’s your favorite physical feature about someone else?

I look most at faces

105. what’s something you would rate 10/10?

Galavant

106. heels or flats?

Heels

107. what’s something you had more knowledge about?

Does this mean wish you had? If so then chemistry

108. would you want to be famous?

I’d want to maybe be known by name but not by face

109. what’s something you would get arrested for?

Pirating TV shows

110. are you a planner or spontaneous person?

A mix

111. what do you hope never changes?

Being friends with my best friends

112. what are your pronouns?

She/her

113. are you a feminist?

For the most part

114. what’s your hogwarts house?

Hufflepuff

115. myers briggs personality type?

Idk, it changes every time

116. who’s your favorite superhero?

Idk maybe Thor

117. favorite villain?

Loki

118. marvel or dc?

Marvel

119. what’s an assumption everyone makes about you that’s not 100% true?

In school people thought I was bookish and didn’t care about parties or boys or that kind of stuff, and now that I’m out of school people think I’m ditzy and probably not that smart

120. favorite bands?

Taylor Swift

121. if you could meet one celebrity, who & why?

Taylor Swift because I like her music and I think we would get along

122. have you watched porn before?

A little

123. favorite disney movie?

Hercules, Aladdin, or Tangled

124. favorite disney princess?

Rapunzel

125. favorite disney prince?

Hercules or Aladdin

126. favorite disney couple?

Rapunzel and Eugene

127. star wars or star trek?

Star Wars

128. top five movies?

Back to the Future, Confessions of a Shopaholic, Timer, The Imitation Game, Tangled

129. top five songs?

All Too Well, In a Crowd of Thousands, Traitor, Me and the Sky, Satisfied

130. top five ships?

Idk. Currently I’m enjoying Gina and EJ from HSMTMTS

131. how gay are you?

Just a little bit, I have occasional crushes on girls but I don’t think I’d want to date a girl

132. scream. just let it out.

133. do you have a best friend?

Yeah

134. call or text?

text

135. what’s a song that’s been stuck in your head recently?

A lot of Olivia Rodrigo songs

136. is there a song stuck in your head right now?

Just the songs I’m listening to

137. what song(s) will you always love?

A lot of Taylor Swift and showtunes

138. what song is your current mood?

Idk, I just feel like singing

139. recommend an artist!

The girl who plays Ashlyn from HSMTMTS

140. favorite meme song?

They’re Taking the Hobbits to Isengard

141. a song you hate that everyone loves?

I Like It by Cardi B

142. an artist you refuse to listen to?

Most rappers

143. what’s you “big gay mood” song?

Idk, I Kissed a Girl?

144. favorite lyrics?

“You call me up again just to break me like a promise / So casually cruel in the name of being honest” from All Too Well

145. what lyrics would you get tattooed on any part of your body?

I wouldn’t

146. shuffle your music & share the result!

Knowing Me, Knowing You by Abba

147. what’s your favorite love song?

In a Crowd of Thousands

148. ultimate song to clean to?

Through the Fire and the Flames by Dragonforce

149. if you could collaborate with one musician, who & why?

Taylor Swift because she gets me

150. what song makes you cry?

Soon You’ll Get Better by Taylor Swift

151. what would be your theme song?

Blank Space

152. what’s a strange phobia you have?

Spiders aren’t that strange, so fear of having accidentally shoplifted

153. did you have an emo phase?

154. did you have a greek mythology phase?

Just a little

155. roman or greek mythology?

Greek

156. who’s your godly parent & which god/goddess are you?

Idk

157. how do you handle your anger?

Yell, slam things

158. most attractive singer of the opposite gender?

Ramin Karimloo

159. most attractive singer of the same gender?

Hayden Panettiere

160. what time is it?

12:03am

161. do you have any nicknames?

Star

162. what’s a song that always makes you happy whenever you hear it?

In a Crowd of Thousands

163. which swear word do you use the most!

Fuck

164. five ways to win your heart?

Sense of humor, sing duets, do creative stuff, tease me, pay attention to me

165. five pet peeves?

Mouth sounds, people who think strong female characters can’t have love interests, people giving me unsolicited advice, people wearing their mask under their nose, ghosting

166. do you have trust issues?

Maybe

167. what do you pray about?

I don’t

168. most traumatic experience?

Probably braces

169. what is your dream job?

Idk

170. if you were to be in a musical, which musical, character, & other cast members would you have?

I would love to play Angelica in Hamilton

171. who would play you in a movie about your life?

Lea Michele

172. what’s your favorite thing about your significant other?

Sense of humor

173. favorite fictional character?

Kelsier from Mistborn

174. post a picture of yourself!

Nah

175. what’s your favorite pet name?

I don’t really like generic pet names that much

176. what makes you feel like a horrible person?

Not caring enough about people

177. when did you realize your sexuality?

It was always kind of assumed, but started thinking I might be a little bi a couple years ago

178. when was your first kiss?

When I was 18

179. expose your parents. that’s right. expose them. they deserve it.

My mom is overly cautious and doesn’t know how to pick her battles, my dad is a bit annoying

180. a phrase that breaks your heart?

Depends on the context

181. when did you come out?

I didn’t

182. how did you come out?

I didn’t

183. who knows you’re out?

I’m straight

184. what’s your lucky number?

Idk

185. how tall are you?

5′6″

186. favorite word?

finnicky

187. are you right handed or left handed?

Right handed

188. do you have an accent?

American

189. first word that comes to mind when you hear ‘heart’?

Beat

190. what’s something you’re proud of?

I made a funny meme in the work group chat the other day

191. do you like where you live?

I like the area, but I don’t like living at my dad’s house

192. when you’re older, do you want to move to a different place?

Yeah

193. do you play any instruments?

Clarinet

194. how long is your hair?

To my boobs

195. what’s the meaning of your name?

Star

196. give an unpopular opinion & let your followers attack you or be salty.

People shouldn’t be cancelled for one shitty opinion, and consuming their work doesn’t mean you support all their beliefs or even like them as a person

197. do you support the lgbtq+ community?

Yes

198. who were you supporting for the 2020 election?

Biden

199. opinion on abortion?

Pro-choice

200. opinion on the death penalty?

Against it

201. opinion on reverse racism?

It’s not the same

202. post your screen time for this week.

Like all damn week lol

203. have you ever talked to a celebrity?

Yes, I met Channing Tatum and got a picture with him

204. what was your first concert?

Demi Lovato

205. how long do you keep your bra on?

All day

206. what’s your bra size?

36D last time I got one

207. give a tour of your room (video).

nah

208. how many photos are in your camera roll?

2990

209. what is the most recent movie/show you downloaded on disney+?

Phil of the Future

210. do you like documentaries?

Occasionally if it’s an interesting subject, but it’s not my favorite genre

211. what’s your favorite musical?

Wicked

212. who’s your favorite non-broadway actor/ actress?

Benjamin Bonenfant

213. who’s your favorite broadway actor/actress?

Ramin Karimloo

214. what’s the song you’re currently listening to?

A Dancer’s Heart

215. drop your most recent picture!

Nah

216. do you have a record player?

217. how many records do you have?

None

218. show your records!

None to show

219. do you plan on going to college? if so, where?

I went to my state school

220. talk about someone without telling who.

They used to wear light up sneakers

221. talk about something you hate.

I hate tomatoes and everything made out of them

222. have you been to therapy?

Yes

223. what color are your eyes?

Brown

224. what color are your parents’ eyes?

Hazel for my mom, Hazel-green for my dad

225. what color are you significant other’s eyes?

Hazel

226. how old were you when you had your first kiss?

227. do you have a favorite parent?

No, they are good in different ways

228. are your grandparents still alive?

Just my maternal grandma

229. drop 10 songs & let your followers tell you if you have taste or not.

That’s too much work

230. how many followers do you have on twitter & instagram?

Like 3 probably lol

231. are you the eldest, middle, or youngest sibling?

Only child

232. do you have a specific daytime routine?

Work

233. how often do you go to the doctor’s?

When I need to

234. have you had any surgeries?

Yes, for my canine and wisdom teeth, and to get part of my thyroid removed

235. do you wear glasses?

Yes

236. do you prefer unsweetened iced tea or sweetened iced tea?

Sweetened

237. do you have a “type”?

Yes lol. I like a lot of types but my “type” that I fall for a lot is light skin, dark hair, blue eyes, "golden boy”/big personality

238. what’s your significant other’s astrology sign?

I think Sagittarius

239. drop 5 blogs you love.

Idk

240. do you think you’re like any celebrity (personality wise)?

Maybe Taylor Swift in some ways

241. are you a “popular kid”?

242. what are your school’s colors?

Black and gold

243. what’s your school’s mascot?

Buffalo

244. how many irl friends do you have?

Idk

245. who was your least favorite teacher?

My camera workshop instructor

246. favorite teacher?

My 7th grade math teacher, my freshman year words and music professor, and my junior year film professor

247. drop a picture of your closet.

Nah

248. how many awards do you have?

Idk, a handful

249. what’s one award you’re proud of?

The dean’s list

250. do you take naps?

I try not to

251. what’s something people always ask you when you first meet?

What’s your name?

252. favorite fast food restaurant?

McDonalds or Wendy’s

253. favorite place to dine in?

Rueben’s

254. mexican or chinese food?

Mexican

255. chinese or japanese food?

Chinese

256. mexican or japanese food?

Mexican

257. olive garden’s breadsticks or texas roadhouse’s yeast rolls?

Breadsticks

258. garlic bread or breadsticks?

Garlic bread

259. plain garlic bread or cheesy garlic bread?

Depends on my mood

260. chicken or steak?

Chicken

261. favorite meal?

Pasta

262. drop a recipe!

I don’t really cook

263. how do you like your steak cooked?

I don’t

264. what would your last meal be?

Pasta

265. are you allergic to anything?

Beeswax I think

266. cats or dogs?

Cats but I like both

267. favorite genre of music?

Showtunes

268. favorite fan fic trope?

Fake dating probably or needing each other for survival

269. favorite tv show genre?

Sci-fi or sitcom

270. what’s your favorite cover/cover a band or artist has or should do?

Disturbed cover of The Sound of Silence

271. how often do you write songs?

I haven’t since I was a kid

272. how many finished songs do you have?

Idk like 5

273. do you write your songs in your notes or in a journal?

I just came up with them

274. how long have you been writing?

I don’t really write

275. how long have you had your account?

Since like 2013 or 14

276. what was your first URL?

shineslikestars17

277. if you could change your name, what would it be?

Star

278. what would you like to name your children?

Shane or Eric for a boy, Phoenix for a girl

279. what are your parents’ & sibling’s names?

I don’t have siblings, I don’t feel like sharing my parents names

280. are your parents democratic or republican?

Democrativ

281. do you have more in common with your mom or dad?

Both in different ways

282. are you & your siblings close?

I don’t have any

283. how close are you and your siblings in age?

I don’t have any

284. are any of your siblings married?

I dont have any

285. do you have any nieces or nephews?

286. do your parents have any siblings?

My mom has a sister and my dad has a brother

287. do you have any cousins?

Yes

288. do you look more like your mom or dad?

Both

289. how old were you when you started your period?

13 I think

290. have you lost your virginity?

Yes

291. who took your concert virginity?

My what?

292. who took your musical virginity?

My what?

293. scream again. everyone needs to.

294. do you have any collections?

Kinda, lately I’ve been collecting dice

295. what’s on your nightstand?

Water, lotion, advil, phones, chapstick, purell

296. how do you usually style your hair?

Down or ponytail

297. do you play games on your phone?

Sometimes

298. are you hydrated?

Yes

299. have you breathed enough today?

I assume so since I am still conscious

300. are you thankful for anything?

I know I have a lot of privilege

#survey #long post

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