#allergic to putting effort into hands lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

afictionaladventure16 · 2 years ago

Note

hey! i had a little idea for To Build A Home;

y/n and pedro hang out together for the first time alone (y/n is very hesitant and stuff about it, and still unsure about pedro)

pedro’s trying his hardest to start conversations with y/n, but they’re giving short and vague answers, not wanting to give a longer answer in fear of starting an actual conversation and accidentally growing attached and comfortable around Pedro.

After they finish hanging out, Y/N goes to their room and tells their friend about the day and how she was unsure about Pedro and felt bad for how they treated him earlier.

Pedro tells Y/N’s mom about how the hang out went, and their mom isn’t happy at all.

Once Pedro leaves their house, readers called downstairs to talk.

Mom starts getting angry at Y/N telling them that this is the happiest she’s ever been and she could at least try to make an effort to bond with him, and thought they were open to the idea of going to hang out with Pedro. Y/N tells their mom that they don’t trust Pedro yet or something along the lines of that…. mean words are exahcnged back and forth, gets lowk emotional and stuff.

(jesus christ this ended up being much much longer than i thought lol whoops)

To Build A Home Pt. II (Pedro Pascal x Teen!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N: I feel like this one isn't as good. Let me know what you think!

Summary: Pedro plans out a day for the two of you to bond, but it doesn't turn out the way Pedro and your mother expected it to.

Word Count: 3,105

Warnings: mentions of abuse

There was no way you were getting out of this. No matter how much you pleaded or begged or even tried to bribe your way out of it, your mom was dead set on this.

You sat on the couch, waiting once again. For a moment you felt like you were five again, waiting to be picked up by your father to go out for the day. For a moment, you felt scared.

Your mom paced in the kitchen, it was something she always did. Sometimes you wondered if she felt safe in the kitchen and if the things that surrounded her there gave her a feeling of confidence. Anything she needed to protect herself was within arms reach, she had to learn that the hard way.

Your mom comes rushing back into the living room, “He’s here,” she said in a rushed tone. “Do you have your jacket?”

“Mom, it’s the middle of April,” you comment, standing up from your spot on the couch.

“Remember I gave you a twenty for lunch, if he tells you to put it away, you tell me.”

“Why are you testing him? You know he’s gonna tell me to put it away,” you huffed. You didn’t know much about Pedro, but from what you’ve researched you knew he was a giver. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be on your toes around him, because you were, regardless of what’s on the internet, you still didn’t truly know him.

Your mother rolled her eyes as she walked over to the door, opening it to reveal Pedro standing at the other side, “Pedro!” She smiled and gave him a big hug. He kissed her cheek before letting go of the hug. “I’d stay and chat, but you two should get going before it gets late.” She turned around to face you, “My meeting should end around four, shoot me a text if you guys are done before then, alright?”

She looks at Pedro, “She’s allergic to shellfish, so sushi or any seafood place is out of the question, okay? Also, she burns up pretty easily and develops a rash when overheated–Oh, honey, do you have your Epipen? She needs to carry that with her at all times.”

“Mom,” you groaned in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, cariño, she’ll be safe in my hands,” Pedro gave your mother a reassuring smile. “Ready?” he asked as he turns to look over at you.

You gave him a small nod before following him out the door, “See you later.” You heard him say to your mother.

Once you were in the car, Pedro handed you his phone, “mind picking out something to listen to?”

You shrugged, opening up his phone, it was brave of him to not have it locked. You opened up his Spotify app noticing a variety of genres in his liked playlist. From Prince to even Omar Apollo, you had to admit that he had good taste. It was all music your mother showed you or that you had discovered on your own.

You settled with Omar Apollo, letting his music play on shuffle as Pedro drove.

“Nice, I love Omar!” He exclaimed. “I actually went to his concert not too long ago, he’s an amazing performer.”

“That’s nice,” you commented.

Pedro hummed in response, he was nervous all day about this. He sat up all night overthinking different things to ask you, what was appropriate and what wasn’t. If he should ask you about school or if that was stupid, what kid wanted to talk about school? Regardless of all the questions, he knew he had to prepare himself for the worst. He knew that there would be a chance that you wouldn’t say anything at all.

Pedro mentally prepared himself for the possibility you would give him one-word answers or even the cold shoulder. He knew he couldn’t take it personally. He was a man that was coming into your life and it wasn’t going to be easy for you, no matter how much space he can give you, it isn’t easy.

Minutes went by, and Pedro cleared his throat, “We’re almost there,” he stated. He just knew that just because you might give him the cold shoulder, it was best for him not to react the same way. He had to talk, be himself with you.

You gave him a small nod as you continued to look out of the window watching as the ocean slowly came into view. “I swear every time I see the ocean, it always manages to amaze me,” Pedro commented.

You hummed in response. Pedro didn’t say much after that for the rest of the ride, he let the music do the talking.

Don’t take it personally, Pedro. He kept reminding himself as he continued to drive down the freeway.

Pedro pulled into the parking lot, and you looked at the signs directing towards the aquarium. It wasn’t a place you thought Pedro would take you to. He seemed like the kind of guy to want to go to amusement parks or even an escape room. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed that you weren’t at Disneyland.

You got out of the car and walked beside Pedro toward the entrance. Even though it wasn’t Disneyland, you knew it was going to be a good experience. Especially since this was your first time in an aquarium.

Pedro paid for two tickets and led you inside, there was a weird echo within the building, you could see parts of the aquarium from the entrance, and part of you felt like a little kid again. Eager to run over to the glass and watch the fishes swim by, just like the little kids in front of you. It was an experience you had missed out on as a kid and now you wanted to live it.

Pedro could see how your eyes widen at the sight of the tall glass that you had never been to an aquarium and for a second he didn’t know if bringing you was the right choice. Was he overstepping? He shook the thoughts out of his head, knowing very well that he wasn’t overstepping. He had asked your mother days before if it was okay and she had given him the okay, but he couldn’t help his anxiety.

You both walked down a small hallway that led to a dark room that was barely lit by the light coming from the aquarium. “Whoa,” you breathed out. Watching as a large whale shark came into view.

For a moment, you forgot everything.

For a moment, you were one of the fishes. Swimming along the water with no care in the world.

And for a moment, you felt free.

“Do you think they feel pain?” you blurted out.

Pedro gave you a small glance before looking back over at the view in front of him. This was the first time all day you had asked him something, he wanted to jump for joy but withheld his glee, “hard to say,” he began. “I think every living creature feels some sort of pain.” You hummed in response. “Do you think they do?”

You let out a small breath, thinking back to being a fish, feeling free. “No,” you answered.

Pedro felt his heart sink, he had to say something to keep this conversation alive. Anything just to keep you talking, “Why do you think that?”

There was a little girl beside you, you could hear her laughing alongside who you’d assume was her father. You hated the feeling it brought you, that gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of your stomach. Why couldn’t that be you? You tuned Pedro back in, “Dunno,” you responded with a shrug.

Pedro let out a sigh. You both stood there watching the fishes come and go, “What’s your favorite fish?” Pedro asked. He was feeling a little desperate, he wanted to talk to you, to get to know you.

But you, on the other hand, wanted to keep your distance. You didn’t want what talking could lead to. You didn’t want the attachment, mostly because you didn’t know how long he would be around. Was he just around until he got bored and then he’d leave you and your mother? You shrugged, “Clownfish,” you responded with the only fish that came to your mind.

“Clownfish?” You gave him a nod. “Mine is a Sting Ray.”

“They killed Steve Irwin,” you commented as you began to walk away, ready to see what else the aquarium had to show.

Pedro sighed, “Yeah, they did.” The both of you remained quiet as you walked from one part of the aquarium to the other. You watched as seals did little tricks underwater and the penguins wobbled their way into the water. It was all fascinating. “I was thinking maybe we could grab something from the harbor while we’re here?” Pedro says as he follows you into the Jellyfish exhibit.

You gave him a nod, “alright.”

“Okay and then it’s up to you if you want to go home after or do something else,” he suggested.

“I’m fine with going home after that.”

Pedro knew this wasn’t easy for you. It wasn’t easy for your mother either. He had stayed up with her in the late hours, listening to her cry over the phone, giving her a listening ear when she really needed a shoulder to cry on. It was the best he could do in his situation.

Your mother only told Pedro a small percentage of the past, mostly stuff that she was able to tell without becoming a sobbing mess. Your father left when you were two and manipulated his way back only a year later. He abused and neglected the two of you until you were eight when your mother was able to find a way out of his controlling hands.

The times Pedro stayed up late with your mother were the times she called him in the middle of the night, after a vivid nightmare that felt more like a memory. She would explain how your father would throw her against the wall during a heated argument or how there were times he’d threatened her with a kitchen knife. Pedro hated listening to it, he hated hearing the heartbreak in her voice as she broke down with a new detail. He hated all of it.

Most of all, he hated how even though he didn’t know her then, all he wished he could was protect her. Something that was impossible then but isn’t now.

“Alright,” Pedro muttered. His eyes never leave you, wondering how to bring down those walls with each brick, slowly enough for you to trust him. Enough for him to show you how a father is supposed to love. Pedro was determined to not give up. He just knew it in his heart that this is where he was meant to be, this is where his heart felt like home.

Your mother never spoke in detail about the abuse you endured. She had tried at times, but it always ended with her in a sobbing mess. She had told Pedro that the abuse had gotten to the point where she knew another hospital visit for you would draw suspicions, shortly after your mother found sanctuary.

And unbeknownst to Pedro, she found happiness when she met him. “My mom used to take me to the aquarium when I was a kid,” Pedro began. “Usually on the weekends, to the same aquarium and I didn’t care if it was the same exhibit with the same animals. I was just so happy to be there with my mom…” Pedro reminiscent. Pedro understood why you were so guarded and unsure of him. If he were in your position, with all the love he had for his mother, he would do the same.

You remained quiet, watching as the jellyfish in front of you slowly moved from one side to the other. Your stomach growled causing Pedro to let out a small chuckle. “Hungry?” you gave him a small nod. “We can cut this short and grab a bite if that’s what you want,” he gave you a smile. You nod again, you could see the disappointment appear on his face as he let out a small sigh. You were trying.

You were trying so hard to let him in, but it was hard. Accepting someone after trauma is hard.

Accepting that there is someone who has good intentions is hard.

Acceptance is hard.

And it’s harder when you are young and you were never given the chance to know what it’s like to live in happiness, to be a kid with a normal childhood.

The both of you walk back out of the aquarium, you had only been there for three hours, although it felt less. The walk to the harbor was pretty short, Pedro let you choose where to eat and it wasn’t hard for you to find a place right away.

You both sat down once you had ordered.

You took your phone out real quick to check the notifications you had gotten over the past three hours.

“You like Star Wars?” Pedro asked, you gave him a confused look as he gestured toward the back of your phone. You turned your phone around.

“Oh,” you realized he was talking about the Star Wars sticker you had on your case. “Yeah,” you responded.

“Me too, I mean, it’d be kind of hard to be the Mandalorian and not like Star Wars,” he chuckled. “Who’s your favorite character?”

You shrugged, “Dunno.” You looked up at him, noticing his furrowed eyebrows as he glanced down. “R2-D2, I guess?”

He glanced back up at you, a smile on his face, “That’s understandable.” The food arrived not long after, and the both of you ate in silence. You were glad that you had chosen a table outside so that the sound of the waves clashing with the shore could drown out the silence.

Once the two of you were done eating it was time to head back to the car. No words were spoken still and you wondered if Pedro hated you by now. You weren’t trying to get him to hate you, but you feared that every small response you gave him, gave him more of a reason to hate you.

You could feel the anxiety creeping its way in. You were ruining something good for your mother for your own selfish needs, you knew you were. Why was it so hard for you to just talk; To have a normal conversation with a man that loves your mother.

It wasn’t too late, you still had the car ride to make up for the time lost. You both got into the car, Pedro plugged his phone in and began playing where the playlist had left off.

Say something, you thought to yourself. Anything. You could thank him for bringing you or even talk about what your favorite part was. Maybe that was too much?

“So,” Pedro began, “What did you think of the aquarium?” He chuckled, “you probably have been there so many times,” he muttered.

“No,” you responded, “this was actually my first time.”

Pedro was taken aback by your response, “Oh.”

“I liked it,” your muttered. Going back to remaining quiet, where you felt comfortable.

Once you were home, Pedro follows you inside. “You’re both back early!” your mother stated as she got up from the couch.

“Are we?” Pedro greeted your mother with a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m gonna go upstairs and finish my homework,” you state as you quickly leave the room.

Your mother gave you a quick glance as you walked up to your room before looking back over at Pedro, “How’d it go?”

Pedro sighed, “Good, I guess?”

Your mother sighed, her fear of today's outcome was true, “You guess?”

Pedro shrugged, making his way outside in fear that you might hear anything. He didn’t want to paint you in a bad light, it wasn’t his intention. “I’m not taking it to heart, Yesenia.”

“What did she say?”

“That’s the thing, she didn’t say anything?” Your mother gave him a confused look, “She was quiet and gave the occasional one-word answers. Honestly, I don’t blame her.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Yesenia, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Pedro sighed, looking at his watch, “Don’t be too hard on her, I get where she’s coming from. I have to go make a couple of calls before work tomorrow morning, let’s have lunch?”

She nods, “Don’t forget you’re installing my new bookshelf on Wednesday.” Yesenia waves Pedro goodbye as he gets in his car. She waits until he’s out of sight to go back inside. To say she was mad was an understatement, you had given her your word that you’d try to make conversation with him.

“Y/N!” Your mother called out.

You came running down the stairs a few seconds later, “Yes?”

“I need you to explain something to me,” she began. “When you told me the other night that you’d try to make conversation with Pedro and that this whole idea of hanging out with him was a good idea, did you intend to lie to me the whole time?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mom, I really did try.”

“That’s not what it sounds like to me.”

“Mo-”

“This is the happiest I have been in years, Y/N. Years. The least you could do is make an effort to like the man.”

“But mo-”

“If you were just honest with me-”

“How can I be!? God, I have to tip-toe around you now because of how emotional you are since Dad! I’m sorry if I take my time trusting a man I barely met! I’m not like you, mom!”

Your mother was taken aback by your response. “You know it has taken me a long time to trust people, to even open my heart up again.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry, that was a low blow.”

Your mother shook her head, “I-I can’t even look at your right now.”

“Mom-” You took a step forward.

Your mother took a step back, “Go to your room.”

You didn’t try to fight your mother on this, you knew she needed her space. You walked back up the stairs to your room. Yes, it was a low blow, but you felt like your mother forgot that even though you both were in the same war, you are still fighting different battles. Battles that to this day you were struggling to overcome.

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01 @tracysnook @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @white-wolf-buckaroo @steadydragongalaxy @rooting4theantihero @soupinasock @tracysnook @Ilovehotdadsandshit @dzaga890 @marantha @emmasauger @marysucks-blog @pcotato @scrappybear89 @dlwrish @what-ever-man213 @boiohboii @drowning-in-paragraphs @stoneredsworld @xmurph7 @sleepylunarwolf @glossy01 @aot-task141-lover @uwiuwi

131 notes · View notes

choofeyrac · 1 year ago

Note

Hey :) Something where Drew and Harrison are out for dinner, and one is allergic to the other’s cologne? Kinda specific idk

Anon this was a joy to receive, and it’s taken me a while to get round to replying but!! Here! ~2k of sneezy Harrison. A sneezy Drew version is in the works too, so check back sometime in the next,, week to six months, idk, posting is hard lol. Anyway. Fic!

Drew’s dressed up, even though they’re only going to one of the Sidlesmith restaurants he usually avoids.

“Hi,” Harrison says, and looks him up and down so salaciously that the tips of Drew’s ears turn pink. Harrison grins, and pulls him in for a kiss. “You look nice. And you smell nice, too. Is that new cologne?”

Drew is definitely blushing now, but Harrison isn’t sure whether it was the kiss or the acknowledgment of the effort he’s put into tonight. Drew shrugs a little, looking down as if he’s embarrassed, but he reaches for Harrison’s hand. Harrison takes it, and brings it up to his lips to kiss his fingers. If he happens to press Drew’s knuckle firmly below his nose as he does so, well, it could have been an accident. Drew doesn’t notice, or at least he doesn’t comment. It’s fine.

He keeps hold of Drew’s hand to drag him inside the restaurant, firstly because he doesn’t fully trust Drew not to back out and just take them home instead, and secondly because okay, maybe his nose is a little itchy. It’s probably just the cold air. It’ll be better once they’re inside.

It’s the type of place where they have to wait to be seated, though there’s no one there to welcome them when they walk in and they have to stand idly until they’re spotted. Harrison leans into Drew’s side happily, telling him about his day. They get seated, and Harrison keeps telling him about classes and campus and how Confetti Friday has been received today. Drew rolls his eyes about Confetti Friday, like he always does, and Harrison takes his moment of distraction to sniffle, delicately. It’s surely just his nose adjusting to the warmth of the restaurant.

As it turns out, the sniffle doesn’t help. He’s glad Drew is talking now, because Harrison will acknowledge now — only to himself, of course — that there’s something of a tingle in his nose. He’s listening to Drew, but part of his attention is on the tingle, and with the awareness it calcifies into what can only be described as a tickle. Oh no. He’s definitely going to sneeze.

He scrunches his nose. Drew, noticing, seems to realise that he’s not had his full attention for the last few minutes, either.

“You okay?” He asks, and Harrison, forever in awe of Drew noticing so much about him, smiles a real smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he can see that Drew believes him. Good. If they’d been at home, Drew would have sussed him out immediately, but the restaurant is busy and distracting and loud, and Harrison manages to hide another sniffle and a subtle rub at his nose when Drew’s eyes are drawn to another group of customers. It helps, a little. Right up until it doesn’t.

If only he could press his finger under his nose, the tickle would almost certainly recede just as it had outside. But he has no excuse, this time, and Drew would almost certainly notice. If Drew thinks he’s uncomfortable, he’ll say they should leave, that they don’t have to be here, and Harrison really wants them to be here. Or he’ll worry, and fuss. Harrison just wants to have a nice night, so he decides that if he can’t touch his nose, he can at least bite his top lip. He does so when Drew looks at the food being delivered to a nearby table.

“It does look good,” Drew acknowledges, an admittance given how much he’d whined about coming here. Though it’s not the food he’d doubted, just the romanticism.

“I’m surprised you never came here as Cal,” Harrison notes. “Seems like it would be good for people watching.”

Drew shrugs, and Harrison regrets the comment when his gaze turns a little heavier.

“It would have been, probably. But… there were some places where it felt less like Cal and more just,” he breaks off, looks at the table. “Lonely.” Harrison reaches for his hand across the table and squeezes.

“You’re not alone now.”

“No,” Drew agrees. “I’m not.” Harrison’s nose takes that exact moment to remind him of the tickle, and his nostrils flare. “Really though, Harrison, is something wrong? You seem…”

“I’m fine,” Harrison says again, except that his breath catches midway through, and it comes out sounding like, “I’m fuh—ine.”

He scrunches his nose again, and there’s no point trying to hide it now. Drew, he’s glad to see, has relaxed.

“Got a little tickle there?” He asks.

“Just a little one. Sorry.”

Drew squeezes his hand. “Nothing to apologise for. Do you need a napkin?” He pushes his over the table. Harrison takes it gratefully, and scrubs at his nose, pushing and pinching at it now he can do it openly. It helps; the need to sneeze drops away. He folds the napkin carefully and puts it in his pocket.

“Thanks,” he says, and Drew smiles at him, and they go back to talking about everything and anything.

And then somewhere in the middle of it, the tickle re-emerges. He doesn’t try to hide it from Drew this time — he suspects it’s far too strong for that. He goes through all the same motions, the nose rub, the lip bite, then takes the napkin back out and pinches his nose.

“Get them out of your system before the food arrives,” Drew advises, because even he can tell Harrison’s holding back more than one sneeze. Harrison, however, isn’t quite sure how many more than one it is. If he starts… he’s not sure when or how he’ll stop.

But Drew entwines their feet together under the table, and Harrison’s nose stops giving him any choice.

“hh’dkt’choo.” It’s half stifled into the napkin, and Drew blesses him warmly. “uh’dht’chuh.”

“Bless you,” Drew says again.

“You started on those way too early,” Harrison manages to say, then: “huh’dkt!” He sniffles helplessly against the rough surface of the napkin, trying to calm his nose, trying to convince it that stifles are enough, then they’ll help enough.

“hih’dkt’Tchiew!” His nose disagrees. “hih’tschiew! Oh, excuse me. Oh, I have to, I, I’m going to, sn— sn— sneeze again eh’hehtchiew! eh’tcheww!”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I bless you now?” Drew asks, eyes sparkling. Harrison nods, then says,

“Oh, wait, not yet — ehtsss’schewww. Ohh, that’s better. Now you can bless me.”

“Bless you, then,” Drew says. “And… bless you again?”

Harrison frowns, not at Drew but at the idea there might be another sneeze about to happen. He opens his mouth to disagree, but what comes out is, “ihtss’schieww.”

Harrison gives up, and blows his nose as quietly as he can. Drew just smiles at him when he’s done.

“Better?”

“Much.” It’s true; Harrison’s incredibly relieved there weren’t more sneezes, and that no one around them seems to be looking.

“Good. And you know we can always go home—“

“Nope,” Harrison cuts him off, and Drew grins, unrepentant. “And anyway, our food should be here soon, we definitely can’t leave now.”

Drew takes his hand, even though it’s just been holding the napkin to his nose, and squeezes.

For a while, Harrison’s nose behaves as one’s nose should in a fancy restaurant. They get their food, and it’s good, and Harrison is glad he’d not ordered anything with pepper on. Drew even allows him to feed him a bite of his own, blushing, though he draws the line at returning the favour and just lets Harrison take a forkful from his plate. They argue about the plotline of a new show they’re watching, and they people-watch everyone around them.

And it’s not until they’re looking at the dessert menu, leaning in close to consider options, that Harrison says,

“Oh no,” And then he sneezes again, with no build up or chance to delay it.

“Nnnk’tchu.” It’s all he can do to pinch the next one off. “Uhnk’tchuh. Heh’tchuh. Heh’yetchoo!”

Drew touches his arm in comfort, squeezing a soundless blessing at the last one. Harrison gasps again, then manages to subdue it into a fit of near-silent stifles.

“Is something in here setting you off?” Drew asks.

“I th— I thinkiht’schoo! I think so. Oh, Drew, I need to, I’m going to, ih’hihtschoo!”

“Let's get you out of here, then,” Drew murmurs, and Harrison goes back to sneezing, unsure if Drew’s summoning their server or just tracking down the bill. All he knows is that when he emerges, there are more napkins on the table in front of him, and Drew is looking sympathetic. Harrison takes the first napkin and wipes his eyes, then presses it to his nose and sneezes again at the roughness. His nostrils, he’s sure, must be quite the shade of red.

“We can go whenever you’re ready,” Drew tells him, and Harrison nods his gratitude, but his lips are already parting with another sneeze. They’re slower now, but trying to become bigger, and Drew is right, they need to get him out of here. One more sneeze, he tells himself. One more, and it has to be enough to let him leave.

He definitely doesn’t want the attention a full-volume sneeze will bring, but he lets a bit of voice into his gasps, and a bit of strength into the sneeze that follows. He sighs, afterwards, squares his shoulders ready to leave, but he’s given his nose too much free rein so another forceful one slips out, then another.

“Oh my god,” He says, rolling his eyes at himself. “What’s wrong with me?” He looks at Drew. “Let’s go, please.”

Drew stands, easily, and keeps a supportive hand on Harrison’s back as they leave. They get only round the corner before Harrison stops, and gets very glad he thought to bring the stack of napkins with him.

“Heh’eschieww!!” He sneezes, losing his volume inhibitions now there’s no one to bother but Drew. “Heh’tchieuuu!” They wrench him forward at the waist, and the napkins don’t stand a chance. He balls them up so he can save the rest to blow his nose, and cups his hands over his mouth instead.

“Hih’eschewww!”

Drew stays close, and Harrison leans on him between sneezes. He blows his nose again, and before the sneezes start again he gets another breath of Drew’s new cologne.

“You really do smell nice today,” He says, and then sneezes so violently it makes him dizzy.

“Oh,” Drew says. “Harrison. Is it— are you allergic to my cologne?”

Harrison is far too busy sneezing to answer, but when Drew steps away the sneezes begin to slow.

“I’m sure it’s not that,” he says when he can, but when Drew moves back to him the sneezes start again immediately.

“Oh, Harrison, I’m so sorry.”

Harrison shakes his head, but can’t deny that he stops sneezing again when Drew puts some more distance between them, or that it’s not a relief to stop sneezing like this, out here in the open. He heaves a sigh loud enough for Drew to hear even from where he’s standing.

“I really did like the smell of it,” he says, mournfully.

“Come on,” Drew says, “let’s walk home very far apart from each other.”

They do, and Drew goes to shower off the scent once they’re back, whilst Harrison finds some tissues that are actually soft, and snuffles into them. There’s a trace of the cologne hanging in the air, but Harrison doesn’t dare go check if Drew had sprayed it in their bedroom, or if he’d kept it to the bathroom. He sneezes into his tissues at just the thought of it, though without Drew here next to them the force goes out of them.

Drew comes back in joggers and a t-shirt and wet hair, and sits down next to Harrison on the couch. Harrison leans in to nuzzle his neck, then pulls away again to return his nose to his handful of tissues and sneeze again.

“Sorry I ruined date night,” Drew says, sounding guilty.

“It’s not ruined,” Harrison says. “A little waylaid, perhaps — oh, huh’tszhoo —“ He sniffles. “— but not ruined. We still had our nice meal, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but—“

“And we still had a nice time.”

“Not the point,” Drew tries to argue, and Harrison rubs his nose firmly, then drops his tissues in favour of kissing Drew.

“Hush,” he says, after, and Drew does. “We spent the evening together. It was a good date night. A good, sneezier-than-expected date night.” Drew still looks a little mopey about it, though kissing him has washed much of it off his face. “And,” he adds slyly, “you let me have a trope.”

“I’m not sure ‘let you’ is the phrase I’d use,” Drew says, but there’s a twitch of a smile.

“Shh. Thank you for facilitating my trope for me.”

“You’re welcome.” Drew rolls his eyes, but lets Harrison kiss him again.

“You know,” Harrison says, a few moments later. He barely moves away from Drew’s lips, but Drew, hearing something in his tone, pulls away to look at him. “We never did have dessert. What do I get instead?”

“We could have actual dessert,” Drew points out.

“We could. Or?” Harrison says meaningfully, just to let Drew’s thoughts run wild. He’s had some very interesting experiences, as a result of letting Drew's imagination run wild.

“Or both.” Drew says, an idea clearly sparking in his mind, and Harrison grins, because he doesn’t know what Drew has planned, but he knows it’s definitely going to be worth every single sneeze.

#my writing #snz fic #snz

2 notes · View notes

chlerc · 4 months ago

Text

because it matters ; charles leclerc

— summary; he was your brother's best friend before he was your boyfriend, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less than before. in fact, he definitely loves you more.

pairing — brothers-best-friend-charles leclerc x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 5777.

content — all 5 love languages, his “just because” actions, some more than the other with or without reasons but that's because he adores and loves you. 5 years age gap, she’s still studying in university!!

NAVIGATION + author’s note: based off none other than my fav duan jiaxu from hidden love!! i think i died a little when i finished this drama, age gap literally always hits right when it needs to hit lol. longest fic i've ever written on here, show some love to it lolol jk, lmk how this goes i might based them off chinese actors/dramas if it's okay

— ACTS OF SERVICE.

CHARLES HAD ALWAYS BEEN A man of quiet gestures, his love language more a series of thoughtful actions than grand declarations. As her brother’s best friend and now her boyfriend, it was no surprise that his care for her manifested in the smallest, most deliberate ways. So when her birthday approached, Charles set himself the task of creating something special — something that would reflect his deep understanding of her, and his desire to make her feel cherished.

She had been allergic to milk for as long as anyone could remember, a detail most people might forget amidst the usual birthday celebrations of cake and sweets. But not Charles. He had spent weeks researching recipes, carefully altering ingredients, and practicing the art of baking. For a man who had never shown much interest in the kitchen, it was a laborious process, filled with mishaps and frustration. Yet, he persisted, determined to present her with a homemade cake crafted specifically with her needs in mind.

On the day of her birthday, she had no idea what to expect. Charles had been oddly secretive in the days leading up to it, disappearing at odd hours, and she had assumed it was part of some elaborate plan he and her brother had cooked up. But when he appeared at the door with two cakes in hand, her curiosity deepened.

One cake was pristine — clearly store-bought, wrapped in elegant packaging, the kind of cake anyone would be thrilled to receive. Yet, it was the other cake that caught her eye. Slightly imperfect, its frosting uneven in places, but the look in Charles’ eyes when he presented it to her spoke volumes.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he said, a slight hint of embarrassment in his voice as he gestured toward the homemade cake, “but I made it myself. No milk, just how you need it.” There was a vulnerability in his words, a rare moment where his usual calm confidence gave way to the desire for her approval.

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest as she reached out to take the cake from his hands. His efforts — his quiet, stubborn determination to create something just for her — meant more than he could ever know. She could see the backup cake sitting beside it, a safeguard in case his own attempt had gone terribly wrong. But to her, it was the one he had baked that mattered. The imperfections made it perfect, a testament to the care he had put into making her birthday special.

Carefully, she cut into the homemade cake, offering him a reassuring smile as she took the first bite. The flavor was unexpectedly good — better, even, than she had anticipated. A soft laugh escaped her as she met his gaze. “Charles, this is wonderful,” she said, her tone filled with genuine admiration. “I love it.”

His shoulders, which had been tense with anticipation, relaxed as relief washed over him. He offered her a modest smile, though she could see the flicker of pride in his eyes. “I wasn’t sure how it would turn out,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar way he did when he felt uncertain. “I bought the other one just in case this was a disaster.” She shook her head, leaning in to kiss him softly on the cheek. “You didn’t need the backup. This is perfect. It’s perfect because you made it.”

And in that moment, as they sat together with the imperfect cake between them, she realized just how deeply Charles understood her. It wasn’t the grandeur of the gesture that made it special, but the simple act of putting in the effort — for her, and for what mattered to her. It was his way of loving her, his love language spoken through flour and sugar, through careful attention to detail, and through the quiet humility that came with wanting to make her happy.

— II. ACTS OF SERVICE.

CHARLES HAD ALWAYS BEEN METICULOUS in the ways he cared for her, a kind of attention that was never loud or overbearing but woven into the fabric of his every action. It was in the way he would always walk ahead just slightly, reaching the car first to open the door for her before she had even thought to do so herself. His hand would rest lightly on the doorframe, waiting as she slipped into the seat with a small, appreciative smile. He never made a fuss about it, never expected a word of thanks, but it was a habit as constant as the turning of the seasons. He understood that these small courtesies were his way of communicating, a language that didn’t need words.

Her bag, too, was something he would instinctively take from her as soon as they met, draping the strap over his shoulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Whether it was a long day of errands or a brief walk through the park, the weight of it never seemed to bother him. “You don’t have to,” she would say sometimes, though it was more out of habit than expectation. And he would shrug, flashing her that easy smile of his. “I know, but I want to, and it’s no trouble.”

Even on cold mornings, when the wind would bite at their skin and they found themselves huddling into coats, Charles was ever-attentive. As they wandered the streets with takeaway cups of steaming tea or coffee, he would take hers from her hands without a second thought, holding it between his own gloved palms to shield her from the chill. She had protested once, perhaps out of a sense of independence or stubbornness, but he had only smiled and shook his head. “It’s cold,” he’d said simply, as if the matter were already decided.

The thing about Charles was that he never made these acts feel obligatory or performative. They were woven into the quiet fabric of his love, embedded in the little moments they shared — a door held open, a bag carried, a cup kept warm. And she knew, deep down, that this was how he loved her, not with grand declarations or sweeping gestures, but with an unwavering constancy that wrapped around her like a second skin.

Each small act of care, unnoticed by others but never by her, made her feel seen in a way that words couldn’t. It was in the quiet things, the things he did without being asked, that she saw the depth of his affection. And it was in these moments, as they moved through the world together, that she knew she was cherished — not with extravagant displays, but with a love as steady and sure as the man who walked beside her.

— PHYSICAL TOUCH.

HIS LOVE SPOKE THROUGH TOUCH, in the way his hands found her almost instinctively the moment she stepped out of the lecture hall. After a long day of classes, she would find him waiting just outside, leaning casually against his car, his eyes lighting up the moment he caught sight of her. He never needed to say much. His presence alone seemed to ease the weight of her day.

As soon as she was within arm’s reach, his hands would naturally gravitate toward her. A gentle, almost unconscious brush of his fingers against hers before he intertwined them, as if to anchor her to him after hours of separation. There was something so grounding in the way he held her hand, a quiet reassurance in the warmth of his skin against hers.

It never ended there. He always seemed to need more — his arms wrapping around her in an embrace that lingered just a little longer than necessary, his hands slipping to the small of her back as he pulled her close. He would nuzzle his head against her shoulder, a gesture that spoke of yearning, of needing to be near her, to feel her, as if her presence was the only thing that could soothe his restless energy.

Even in the car, as they drove away from the university, his touch remained constant. One hand on the wheel, the other would inevitably find its way back to hers, or rest comfortably on her thigh, a quiet reminder of his desire to stay connected. At stoplights, he would lean over, pressing a kiss to her temple or her cheek, his arm slipping around her shoulders, drawing her nearer.

There was something so earnest, so unabashed about his need for physical closeness. It wasn’t just affection, it was as if touch was his way of grounding himself, of communicating the depth of his feelings without words. He didn’t need grand gestures to show how much he cared; it was in the small, intimate moments — when his head rested on her shoulder, when his fingers traced absentminded patterns on her skin, or when he pulled her into a hug so tight she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It was through these simple acts that she understood just how much he needed her, how much he cherished the feeling of her in his arms, beside him, within reach. His touch was his way of speaking, of saying what words could not — that in her presence, in the soft warmth of her embrace, he had found his peace.

— GIFT GIVING.

EVERY TIME HER UNIVERSITY EXAMS ended, without fail, there would be a gift waiting for her. It became a ritual, a quiet tradition he had started from the very first year of her studies. His love language was expressed through thoughtfulness, in the way he would hand her something small, but always meaningful, with a smile that reached his eyes.

He never made a grand display of it. The gifts were never extravagant, but they were deeply personal, chosen with care. A hardcover edition of her favorite novel, a delicate silk scarf in her favorite shade of blue, a handwritten note tucked between the folds of a soft leather journal. And on that particular day, after one of the most grueling exam weeks she had endured, he had something different in store.

As she stepped out of the exam hall, exhausted yet relieved, there he was, standing quietly off to the side with that familiar warmth in his gaze. He walked toward her, his hands slipping into his jacket pocket before revealing a small velvet box. She could tell, by the tenderness in his expression, that this was no ordinary gift.

“I know you've had a rough week,” he began softly, “but I wanted to give you something special.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the box, revealing a delicate bracelet inside. It was simple, yet beautiful — a fine silver chain with a single angel charm hanging from it. The charm was intricately detailed, with outstretched wings and a serene expression, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost ethereal.

“An angel?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, though a smile already tugged at the corners of her lips. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “That’s what I see when I look at you — my angel. Always looking out for me, always guiding me. I thought it was fitting.”

Her heart swelled at his words, a soft warmth blooming in her chest. The bracelet was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a reflection of how he saw her, of the way he cherished her presence in his life. She knew then that every gift he had ever given her carried a meaning far deeper than the object itself.

Gently, he took the bracelet from the box and fastened it around her wrist. His touch lingered, his thumb brushing over the charm as if sealing the significance of the gesture. “I wanted you to have something to remind you how much you mean to me, especially when I’m not around.”

She looked at the bracelet, the charm glinting against her skin, and then up at him, her chest tightening with affection. “You don’t need to give me anything to remind me of that,” she said, her voice soft. “I know.” But he smiled, shaking his head. “I like spoiling you. It’s my way of showing you how much I care. And I’ll always have something waiting for you, after every exam, after every challenge. You deserve it.”

As they walked away from the university that day, her hand resting in his, she couldn’t help but glance down at the bracelet again. It wasn’t just a gift — it was a constant reminder of his love, of the quiet, steadfast way he always showed up for her, even in the smallest gestures. And to her, that meant everything.

— WORDS OF AFFIRMATION.

HE HAD ALWAYS BEEN GENEROUS with his words, the kind that lingered in the air long after they were spoken. Every time he saw her, no matter the occasion or the day, the first thing he would say was how beautiful she looked. It wasn’t a passing compliment, nor a routine gesture, but something genuine, as though he was reminding her of the beauty he saw in her, even when she couldn’t see it herself.

“Hey, pretty,” he would greet her with that soft smile of his, the kind that made his words feel like a caress, as though in that moment she was the only thing that mattered. But today, she didn’t feel beautiful. The weight of a bad day clung to her, pulling her shoulders down, her heart heavy with frustration and sadness. She hadn’t said much when they met, her smile strained, eyes distant. She thought she could hold it together, that if she just kept moving through the day, the weight would somehow lift.

He noticed, of course. He always noticed. As they walked side by side, his arm brushed against hers, a quiet gesture of reassurance. He hadn’t yet said anything, letting the silence linger between them like a fragile thread. But as they reached her apartment, she could feel the emotions swelling up, tightening her throat. She clenched her jaw, trying to push it down.

“Rough day?” His voice was gentle, his eyes searching hers. She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t want to cry — crying was for kids, she thought. She was too old for that kind of release, too old to give into it. But the tension kept building, her emotions pressing against the surface like a dam about to burst.

He seemed to sense her struggle, and without waiting for her to speak, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know,” he began, his tone softer than ever, “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m not a kid,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Kids can cry. Not me.” A warm smile spread across his face, one that carried no judgment, only understanding. “You can always be a kid with me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “You can cry, you can fall apart if you need to. I’ll be here to take care of you, no matter what.”

His words broke through her defenses, unraveling the tight knot she had been holding inside. The tears that she had been fighting so hard to contain began to spill over, silently at first, then in waves that she couldn’t stop. She felt herself trembling, embarrassed, but before she could apologise, he pulled her into his arms.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” he whispered into her hair. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. I’m here for you, always.” She clung to him, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe her. His hands rubbed slow circles on her back, his presence steady, calming. And as the sobs slowly faded, replaced by quiet breaths, she felt a strange sense of relief.

“I don’t know why I always try to hold it all in,” she mumbled, her face still pressed against his chest. He tilted her chin up gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Because you’re strong,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time. Especially not with me.”

She smiled weakly, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over her. He always knew what to say, always knew how to make her feel seen, understood. His words were more than just a comfort — they were an affirmation of her, of everything she was, even in the moments when she doubted herself.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, as if reminding her of a truth she often forgot. “Even when you don’t feel like it. Especially then.” And in that moment, she believed him. Because with him, she could be vulnerable, she could be flawed, and still, she was enough. His words didn’t just lift her — they wrapped around her, a blanket of warmth that made the world feel a little lighter, a little less daunting.

— II. WORDS OF AFFIRMATION.

THE MISUNDERSTANDING HAD TAKEN ROOT between them like a silent storm, creeping in with its unseen force, clouding the air they shared. She had heard something — words passed along by careless mouths — words that struck at the fragile chords of trust between them. He had sensed the shift in her, the way her warmth had slowly receded, leaving a subtle distance where once there was only ease. It wasn't like her to withdraw, and it wasn't like him to leave things unsaid.

He had always been a man of conviction, firm and clear in his affections. Yet now, as the weight of unspoken tension hung between them, he could feel the unfamiliar ache of uncertainty. She was guarded, her once open gaze now veiled by doubt. It pained him, more than he would ever admit aloud, to see the subtle wariness in her eyes. He knew there was something she was holding back, and he could guess what it was.

The rumors. The murmured half-truths. She hadn’t asked him about them directly, but he could feel the weight of those unspoken questions in her every glance. It was the evening, and they sat across from each other in her small living room, the silence almost stifling. She stirred her tea absently, eyes fixed on the rippling surface as if it held the answers to her uncertainty. He watched her, studying the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly, the faint tightness in her lips as she held back what needed to be said.

Finally, he could bear it no longer. His voice broke the silence, low and steady. “I know you’ve heard things. About me. About us.” Her hand froze mid-stir, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There was no accusation in her gaze, only a guarded curiosity. “What things?” she asked, though they both knew she already had the answers.

He exhaled, leaning forward, the intensity of his gaze locking onto hers. “You heard wrong. Whatever it was that’s made you doubt me, it’s not true. And I’m going to prove it.” She blinked, momentarily taken aback by the firmness in his voice. She hadn’t expected him to address it so directly, nor to meet the issue with such unwavering determination. “You don’t have to prove anything,” she said softly, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her. “Yes, I do,” he replied, standing up suddenly, as if the very weight of the misunderstanding had propelled him into action. His jaw was set, determination etched into every line of his face. “Because if there’s even a shred of doubt in your mind, I’m not going to let it sit there. Not with us. Not with you.”

Before she could protest, he was already reaching for his phone. She watched, bewildered, as he started dialing numbers, calling the very people who had unknowingly planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. He didn’t care how late it was, didn’t care if it seemed excessive. He would go above and beyond if it meant clearing the air between them.

The first call was to one of his friends, the one who had supposedly been at the center of the rumors. He put the call on speakerphone, his voice calm yet firm. “Tell her what really happened.” There was confusion on the other end at first, but as his friend began to speak, it became clear. The situation had been misinterpreted, a harmless encounter blown out of proportion by careless gossip. His friend explained it all in painstaking detail, clarifying every point, until the truth stood there, clear and undeniable.

Still, he wasn’t done. One by one, he reached out to anyone who could possibly shed light on the misunderstanding. She sat there, silent, watching in awe as he unraveled the web of confusion with a methodical precision that left no room for doubt. He wasn’t doing it out of desperation, but out of a deep-seated need to ensure that she never had reason to question his integrity again.

When the last call ended, he turned to her, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to believe me,” he said softly. “You can believe them. I just need you to know that I would never hurt you. Not like that.” Her chest tightened as his words sank in. The intensity of his actions, the way he had gone above and beyond to prove himself — she hadn’t expected it. But more than that, she hadn’t realised how much she had wanted him to fight for her, for them. In that moment, the walls she had built around herself crumbled, and she was left standing in the ruins of her own doubts.

“I didn’t think…” she started, but her voice trailed off, emotion thickening her throat. She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” He smiled then, a soft, knowing smile. “I did,” he said, his voice quiet yet resolute. “Because you matter to me. And I’ll go to any lengths to make sure you never forget that.”

She felt the tension leave her body, a soft exhale of relief escaping her lips. It wasn’t just the words — it was the actions. The way he had fought for her trust, the way he had refused to let the misunderstanding linger like a poison between them. He had proven, in the most undeniable way, that his love for her was stronger than any fleeting doubt.

And as he stepped closer, taking her hand in his, she knew without a doubt that he would always be there to clear the air, to fight for their connection. Because in his eyes, she was worth every effort, every moment of reassurance, every word of affirmation spoken into the quiet space between them.

— QUALITY TIME.

HE HAD GROWN USED TO the rhythm of their lives weaving in and out of each other’s. There was a silent understanding between them, a kind of unspoken dance where their schedules often clashed but their hearts always remained in step. Yet, lately, the weight of missed moments had begun to settle between them. His job, relentless and demanding, had pulled him away from her more times than he cared to admit. Meetings that stretched late into the evening, deadlines that loomed too large to ignore, and the endless stream of work that always seemed to multiply at the worst times. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but the dates they had planned — those precious hours set aside for just the two of them — had been quietly cancelled, one after another.

She had never complained, not once. Even when he’d called her, apologetic yet again for another missed evening, she’d only sighed softly and reassured him, “I understand, really.” And he knew she did. But it didn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at him, the sense that he was failing in some essential way, that he was slowly losing the very time they once shared so effortlessly.

That’s why, when she had mentioned the seminar — her voice bright with enthusiasm, as she explained how important it was for her course — he had listened intently, feeling the sting of another missed opportunity. She couldn’t meet him that evening because of it, and for once, it wasn’t his work keeping them apart. There was an irony in it that didn’t escape him.

He sat at his desk, staring at the calendar on his phone, his mind drifting from the endless emails piling up in his inbox to her, seated in that seminar hall, surrounded by classmates, absorbed in some lecture about a subject she cared about. And then, as if something clicked into place, an idea began to take root in his mind. If he couldn’t steal her away for the evening, he could at least be near her. Quality time wasn’t just about elaborate dates or grand gestures — it was about presence. It was about showing up, even in the quiet, unnoticed ways.

Without giving himself time to second-guess it, he stood from his desk, grabbed his coat, and made his way to her university. When he arrived at the building where her seminar was being held, the halls were hushed, the muted sound of voices from behind closed doors filtering through the air. He found her classroom easily enough, his steps slowing as he approached. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see her through the narrow gap, seated at one of the desks, her head tilted attentively toward the speaker at the front of the room.

He stood there for a moment, simply watching her. The sight of her — focused, engaged, oblivious to his presence — filled him with a warmth he hadn’t realised he needed. She looked so at ease, so in her element, and in that instant, the frustration of missed dates and hectic schedules faded into the background.

He didn’t want to interrupt her or make his presence known just yet. Instead, he found a seat on a bench just outside the door, settling in quietly. It wasn’t about being seen — it was about being there, about sharing even this small, seemingly insignificant moment with her.

The minutes passed slowly, the muffled sound of the lecture a quiet backdrop to his thoughts. He imagined the conversations they would have after, the way she would recount everything she had learned with that eager spark in her eyes. He smiled to himself, content to wait for her, knowing that this — just being near her — was enough for now.

When the seminar finally ended, students began to trickle out of the room, chatting amongst themselves as they passed him by. And then, there she was, stepping out into the hallway, her attention still half-occupied by something on her phone. She didn’t see him at first, but when she looked up and caught sight of him sitting there, her eyes widened in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a soft laugh escaping her as she approached him. He shrugged, his expression easy. “I figured if I couldn’t take you out, I could at least be here with you.” She shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she looked at him with a mix of amusement and affection. “You didn’t have to come all the way here for that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, standing to meet her. His voice softened as he continued, “I miss spending time with you. Even if it’s just this.” Her gaze softened, her fingers brushing against his hand as she looked at him with that familiar warmth, the kind that melted away all the missed moments and cancellations. “I miss you too.”

They stood there for a moment, the hallway slowly emptying around them, leaving just the two of them in the quiet aftermath of the evening. There was no grand gesture, no elaborate plan — just the simple act of being there, of showing up for each other even in the smallest of ways. And in that moment, it was more than enough.

— II. QUALITY TIME.

SHE HAD BEEN TALKING ABOUT the camping trip for weeks, her excitement bubbling over with every little detail she planned. From carefully picking out the perfect spot by the lake to gathering everything they would need — the tent, sleeping bags, and even a little portable stove. She had painted a picture in her mind of them under the stars, a crackling fire in front of them, and the serenity of nature surrounding them. It was supposed to be the perfect weekend escape, a break from the world that felt just for the two of them.

But as fate would have it, the skies had other plans. The steady patter of rain against the window seemed to mock her efforts, each droplet erasing the dream she had so carefully built. She stood at the window, watching as the downpour turned the streets into rivulets, her heart sinking with each gust of wind that rattled the glass. The bags were packed, the snacks ready, but the weather was relentless, offering no sign of clearing up.

He watched her from the doorway, noticing the way her shoulders had slumped just a little, the way her fingers idly tapped against the windowsill in quiet resignation. She wasn’t one to show disappointment easily, but he knew her well enough to see it in the subtle tilt of her head, the way her usual spark dimmed just slightly. It wasn’t about the camping itself, really — it was about the time, the experience she had looked forward to sharing with him.

He crossed the room quietly, slipping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You know,” he began, his voice warm and gentle, “we don’t need the perfect weather to have a perfect time.” She leaned into his embrace, though the sigh she released was soft and defeated. “I know, but I was just… looking forward to it. I had everything ready.”

He kissed the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. “We can still do it,” he said, his voice taking on a playful edge. She turned slightly, curiosity flashing in her eyes. “What do you mean? It’s pouring outside.”

A grin spread across his face, mischievous yet sincere. “Who said anything about camping outside?” He stepped back, hands already gesturing to the living room behind them. “We can camp right here. It’s the same as long as we’re together, right?”

She blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of the idea. But as he rushed past her, grabbing the tent from the neatly packed bags, she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, light and surprised. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” he called over his shoulder, already clearing a space in the middle of the room. “We’ve got everything we need. A tent, snacks, and each other. What more could we ask for?” It wasn’t long before the tent was pitched right there in the center of their living room, the furniture pushed aside to make space for their little indoor campsite. He worked quickly, his enthusiasm contagious, and soon the room was transformed into a makeshift wilderness — albeit with the comforts of home just a few steps away. The tent flaps were open, revealing the soft glow of string lights he had hung around the room, casting a warm, golden hue over everything.

She stood in the doorway, watching as he finished setting up the sleeping bags inside the tent, her heart swelling with affection for this man who never failed to find a way to make her smile, even when things didn’t go as planned. “There,” he said, standing back to admire his work with a satisfied nod. “Our own little campsite.” She walked over, her eyes shining with gratitude and amusement as she looked at the scene he had created. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He pulled her into his arms, grinning down at her. “Maybe. But you’re smiling, so it worked.” She shook her head, still laughing softly as she leaned into him. “I can’t believe you set up a tent in our living room.” He kissed her forehead, his voice softening as he held her close. “As long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we are. This can be our adventure tonight.”

They spent the evening curled up in the tent, wrapped in blankets and each other’s warmth, the sound of the rain outside becoming a distant murmur. He made hot chocolate on the stove, and they laughed as they toasted marshmallows over the kitchen burner, pretending it was a real campfire. It wasn’t the trip she had planned, but it was perfect in its own way — intimate, cozy, and filled with the kind of memories that mattered most.

As the night deepened, they lay side by side in the tent, the glow of the lights above them softening the room into a golden haze. She turned to him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as she whispered, “Thank you… for always making the best of everything.”

He smiled, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I’d camp anywhere as long as it’s with you.” In that moment, the rain outside faded into the background, and all that mattered was the time they shared, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.

IN THE INTRICATE DANCE OF their evolving relationship, the myriad expressions of love became an eloquent testament to their deep bond. As her brother's best friend before becoming her boyfriend, he seamlessly navigated the nuances of affection, his gestures echoing the depth of his feelings.

The love language of acts of service shone brightly through his thoughtful actions, from baking a milk-free cake for her birthday to setting up an indoor campsite when their camping plans were thwarted by rain.

His gestures of gift-giving, like presenting her with a bracelet adorned with an angel charm, revealed the tenderness with which he viewed her, seeing her as an ethereal presence in his life.

Words of affirmation were his balm for her insecurities, soothing her with reassurances and steadfastly clearing any misunderstandings with diligence.

Quality time was his cherished currency, manifesting in his presence at her classes and his persistent effort to share moments despite demanding schedules.

Physical touch, too, was a silent language he spoke fluently, his hands ever eager for contact and his embrace a sanctuary of comfort.

Even with a five-year age gap between them, these expressions of love transcended mere routine, weaving a narrative of devotion that was both profound and enduring, underscoring the seamless transition from brother’s best friend to cherished partners.

607 notes · View notes

aro-comics · 3 years ago

Text

Growth (Part 2)

Growth, Part 2/3 – ITS REALLY NOT THAT HARD!! 😭😭 Lol sorry but the last panel is absolutely me when I think about amatonormativity as a whole, it’s really silly the more you think about it and I can’t believe that it’s so deeply engrained in most of the world.

I think I should mention I don’t have any specific narratives to reference for the tropes described in this comic, as much as I would like to, as I started panelling this a year ago and past me GOOFED and didn’t leave many notes on what examples she was specifically think of. Again, feel free to let me know any examples you can think of in the comments or via DM! I’ll pin them if they’re in the comments and I might make a follow up Tumblr post listing examples 😊

Also, while I was researching this general topic I did go through TV Tropes “The Singles” (as a character type? Category) page, and I found something very interesting. There’s a literally a section describing the tropes that “explain” why a character was not in a romantic relationship … and literally they have ever “Excuse” for why a character might be single except for. Maybe literally they’re aromantic 😭 The closest is “Allergic to Love” (which like, relatable. But also not inherently an orientation).

Just like …. OH MY GOD. People sometimes try to act like we’re being dramatic about leting people know being Aromantic is possible but STRAIGHT UP. IN POPULAR CULTURE (and often OUR WHOLE LIVES BEFORE WE DISCOVER THE TERM, AND ACCEPT OUR IDENTITES) THE IDEA OF BEING AROMANTIC IS JUST NON-EXISTENT, WRITTEN AROUND WITH EVERY OTHER POSSIBLE “EXCUSE” OR “EXPLANATION” Because apparently the idea that someone could just not feel romantic attraction is too much for this world 😫

I don’t have too much else to say, other than I hope you’re all holding up okay and taking care of yourselves.

Image Description:

Slide 1: Celia holds her hand up to her chin, contemplating. “The whole idea of growth being tied to romance is reflected in other tropes too –”

Slide 2: A split panel is illustrated. A south asian girl is shown crying as she types on her phone. She mutters to herself “Ugh, I’m SO done with dating. I’m putting myself first for once.”

On the other side of the panel, she is shown to have gone through a *transformation* (a la early 2000s makeover), and bumping into her destined love interest.

“The character’s efforts to “work on themselves” and “get away from romance”, are ironically what lead them to finding their “happy ending”.

Slide 3: Alternatively, a character finally accepting that they are happy single is seen as a “stepping stone” to being “ready” for a relationship.

In this scene, a brunette wearing a yellow shirt and dark skirt proclaims “I can be happy as a single woman”. In the background a spotlight flicks on as her “right” love interest appears. “Achievement unlocked: True Love interest” is overlaid in a font reminiscent of classic video games.

Slide 4: Celia speaks to the viewer. “Again, there’s nothing inherently wrong about either of these stories. It’s amazing if someone who gave up on love due to frustration, not a lack of desire, finds it again through pure fate and luck.”

Slide 5: Celia gestures now as she tries to explain, “But the problem is that these moments are framed as more of a “gotcha”, where this idea of pursuing growth purely for oneself, or holding any disdain of a romantic relationship in this process, is inherently wrong. In the end, even growing for yourself is really about growing for a romantic relationship.”

Slide 6: Celia rubs her hands through her hair in frustration. “Like … not everything is about being in a relationship! It’s not that hard.”

#regularcomic #GrowthComic

770 notes · View notes

asthmark · 5 years ago

Text

❝ 10 things i know about you ❞ l.jn

synopsis → there are ten important things you learn about lee jeno during your time in quarantine.

request → “if you're still accepting requests, can u make a domestic roommate!jeno? 🥺🥺 thank you and have a nice dayyy”

word count → 7.1k (bruhhh)

sharing an apartment with lee jeno isn’t ideal.

it’s not that he’s a lousy roommate or that you disliked him in any way; you just didn’t know him. you had first met through a mutual friend. they knew jeno was looking for someone to split rent with and that you happened to need a place to stay. they promised you he would give you privacy and assured jeno you were excellent roommate material. with that, arrangements were made and soon enough you moved in together. of course, it was a bit awkward at first but you two eventually got used to each other’s presence. although you were never in the same room for too long and oftentimes went days without speaking, you coexisted.

for a long time, you only knew a couple things about your roommate. for example, you were aware of his strong love for cats, especially his pet calico, seol. you also knew he kept the freezer stocked with pizza rolls that he would use as energy when he stayed up all night playing video games.

what you didn’t know, however, was that you would be spending the next couple months locked in your apartment with him. on top of that, you would begin to learn more things about him—his life, his personality, his feelings.

there are ten important things you learn about lee jeno during your time in quarantine.

1. he’s a heavy sleeper.

at 10:28 in the morning you find yourself seated at the dining table in the kitchen, spooning froot loops into your mouth. as you stuff your face, you scroll through your phone for entertainment. you decide to open instagram first but you quickly find that to be a mistake. as soon as you open the app a picture of lucas and who you thought was his ex-girlfriend greets you. if that was bad, the caption hits you like a ton of bricks.

@lucas_xx444: should have never left you

in only five words, lucas has completely erased the months you spent dating. it meant nothing to him. sure, things hadn’t ended things the best way but going right back to his toxic ex and even admitting to missing her—now that was a new low. was this his way of getting back at you? his way of making you hurt just like he had throughout your entire relationship? the thought alone leaves you feeling sick.

you decide you’ve already had enough social media for one morning so you decide to check your messages instead. your friends usually left a couple of them overnight. to your surprise, you find that your main group chat has accumulated 241 messages.

[10:48 am] you: good morning i see u guys have been vry chatty

[10:49 am] yeji: ur finally awake!

[10:50 am] yuna: we thought u died lol

[10:50 am] lia: YUNA

[10:50 am] lia: NO

[10:51 am] ryujin: the timing for that joke could not be worse

[10:52 am] yuna: humor is my coping mechanism leave me alone

[10:52 am] you: ??? what happened

[10:53 am] chaeryeong: we left msgs for a reason dummy read them!!

[10:53 am] you: umm there’s over 200 and im not abouta read all that

[10:54 am] yuna: well then lemme break it down

[10:54 am] yuna: the world is ending :)

[10:55 am] you: welp it was about time

[10:55 am] lia: why r u guys like this

[10:56 am] yeji: there’s been a covid-19 outbreak and it’s spreading like wildfire so the government issued a stay at home order :/

[10:57 am] you: omg WHAT

[10:57 am] ryujin: ikr it’s crazy we literally can’t go anywhere

[10:57 am] chaeryeong: and we can’t get boba today either ;( i was so looking forward to that

[10:58 am] ryujin: let’s pls take a moment of silence for all the current and future boba dates that will have to be cancelled

[10:59 am] yuna: no way am i gonna let some wannabe flu make me go boba-less i’m still going out >:(

[10:59 am] lia: ...ur joking right

[10:59 am] yeji: what color casket do u want yuna?

before the groupchat can distract you any further, you place your phone down on the table. you sit back in your chair and let the newly revealed information sink in.

you were stuck inside.

you sigh before standing to clean your dishes. as you’re scrubbing away at your bowl, you feel something brush against your leg. you smile, not even having to look down to know it was seol. the cat would often wander into your room or sleep next to you when you watched tv on the couch. in fact, you were pretty sure you spent more time with seol than his owner.

you gaze at jeno’s room. as always, the door is shut. you wonder if you should let him know what was happening. you two usually kept your distance but you figured that the circumstance you found yourself in was an exception. you quickly dry your hand and shuffle towards his room.

you knock once, quite softly. you assume he’s asleep so you try again, this time a little harder. still, no avail. the third time you put even more force into it. by this time, seol has found his way beside you and claws at the door.

“jeno?” you knock a fourth time. “jeno! lee jeno!”

after more shouting accompanied by incessant meowing, you hear some muffled movement. moments later the door knob twists open and there stands your roommate with disheveled hair and a robe that had obviously just been thrown on his body. seol has taken the open crack in the door as an invitation inside the bedroom.

jeno blinks a couple times as he watches the feline get himself comfortable on his bed. he turns back to you, looking slightly disoriented. you’re not sure if he’s half asleep or your sudden presence has thrown him for a loop. his voice comes out raspy when he asks, “was he, um, bothering you or something?”

you shake your head, vigorously. “that’s not why i came. it’s just that my friends told me that there’s been some kind of virus outbreak and we’re supposed to stay home. so, i thought i’d let you know.”

his face softens. “oh, cool.” suddenly, the look changes. “not the virus thing! that’s totally not cool. i meant, it’s cool that you let me know and stuff. you just saved me a huge freak out so, uh, thank you.”

you smile and nod. “no problem.”

jeno’s eyes linger as you retreat back into your room down the hall. the sound of his door shutting is heard only once you’re out of his eyesight.

2. he can cook better than you.

most of the time, you would go out to eat dinner with your friends in the evenings or at least stop by a drive thru. obviously, this was no longer possible in the midst of a pandemic. you found that to be incredibly frustrating as you sat on your bed, stomach empty. no matter how badly you wished to fix it, your laziness had gotten the best of you. apart from that, you already knew how unlucky you were when it came to cooking—the memory of burning noodles at lia’s house one night had been permanently seared into your brain.

you almost believe your mind is playing tricks on you when you catch a whiff of pasta in the air. for a moment you think it’s your next door neighbor, taeyong, cooking again. you knew he was quite the chef. but, the smell is getting stronger by the second and you decide it must be in your apartment.

you wander into the kitchen, only to find jeno standing over the stove. he’s stirring red sauce in a pot when he notices you watching him.

“oh, hey,” he greets with a polite wave.

you can only stare at the rest of the kitchen—pots, pans, and ingredients all over the place—in utter awe.

he chuckles, awkwardly. “yeah, sorry about the mess. i’ve been told i’m a decent cook but i can never seem to get the tidiness down.”

“no, it’s not that. this just all seems so... professional.” you sniff the air once more. “smells amazing, too.”

he smiles, sheepishly. “thanks. are you a fan of spaghetti?”

you nod.

“good. i wanted to make something you’d like.”

“you really didn’t have to,” you say, leaning against the fridge. “i mean, i’ve never done anything for you.”

he uncovers a pot to check on the pasta. you watch as hot steam rises out of it. “what about this morning?”

you can’t help but laugh. “that most certainly does not count. you’re making an entire meal. that takes a lot of effort.”

he waves a hand, dismissively. “i used to cook a lot with my old roommate, doyoung. the guy was an asian gordon ramsey, i swear. so, yeah, this is nothing too crazy. and i really do enjoy it.”

“well, i’m still gonna repay you.” you fold your arms.

he looks away from his dish to raise a brow. “is that so?”

you nod in confirmation. “definitely.”

“tell you what, if you wash the mountain of dishes that are gonna be left over, we’ll be even.”

you stare at the sink that’s already overflowing with dirty kitchen tools. that wasn’t even half of it. “uh, sure, sounds good.”

he laughs at hearing the uncertainty in your voice. “that’s the spirit.”

3. he’s allergic to cats.

the familiar sound of soft purring is what pulls you attention away from the movie playing on your laptop. already knowing exactly who it is, you launch yourself off your bed to allow your furry guest inside.

“hey seol. what’ve you been up to?”

the calico meows, almost as if he were responding to your question. you close your door and go back to your original position. you notice seol sitting directly in front of your bed, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“come on up.” you pat your sheets, invitingly.

he obeys and stretches before laying down beside you.

“have you ever watched ‘avengers’?” you ask, eyes going back to the explosive fight scene on the screen.

this time, seol doesn’t even bother humoring you with a meow. he stays silent with his head tucked into his paws.

you scratch his head and his tail wiggles. “i’ve gotta stop asking you questions.”

both you and seol’s heads snap towards the door when you hear a knock.

“come in!” you call out.

jeno swings open the door. his eyes briefly scan the room before landing on the furball on your bed. the unmistakable look of adoration shines in his eyes when he sees how lovingly you caress him.

“seol! what are you doing in here? bothering y/n?” the cat jumps off your bed and towards his owner standing in your doorway. jeno scoops him into his arms and faces you. “i’m so sorry. he saw me running a bath for him and bolted.”

“it’s all good. he’s a great movie buddy. besides, i could always use the company.”

jeno curiously glances at your computer screen. “is that ‘avengers’?”

“yep. i’ve seen it like a dozen times.”

“same here.“ he pauses. “hey, if you ever need a movie buddy—like you know, one that talks—just let me know.”

your face lights up. “i’m gonna hold you to that.”

”i hope so. well, if you’ll excuse me, i’ve gotta give this guy a bath.”

seol yowls as if he understands the meaning behind the words and attempts to escape jeno’s grip.

“here we go again,” he mumbles under his breath.

you snicker at the sight. “looks like you could use some help.”

“oh, no. it’s fine. he can just be a little bratty someti—seol!”

in the blink of an eye, the feline has successfully hopped out of his arms and made a run for it.

jeno gives you an exasperated look before rushing off to catch his runway pet. you find yourself caught up in the excitement so you follow him, the two of you now in pursuit of the calico. you’re sure the image of you both chasing the fluffy animal around the apartment looks like something straight out of a comedy. even you and jeno can’t contain your laughter when he finally catches seol only for him to slip out of his hold a second later. this exact situation repeats itself a couple times before you finally get lucky.

“i got him!” you screech. “jeno! oh my god! what do i do?”

“bathroom, bathroom, bathroom!” he chants in response.

you head in that direction with jeno trailing behind you, ready to catch seol if he somehow manages to get out of your death grip. you bend over the bathtub, slowly lowering the cat into the water. it’s clear he doesn’t have a problem with making a fuss as he wails and flails his limbs around.

after a while, he finally calms down enough that you can lather him in shampoo. jeno insists on scrubbing him, arguing that you had already done way too much. you sit back on your heels, observing the way the seol leans into his delicate touches.

“looks like he likes it now.”

“he likes to make a big deal but he ends up enjoying it every—“ jeno cuts himself off with a sneeze.

“tissue?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “that’s okay, thanks. i’m used to it. i’m just surprised my allergies haven’t acted up ‘til now.”

“allergies?” you echo.

“yeah, i’m allergic to—“ another sneeze. “cats.”

your eyes widen. “really? and you still have seol?”

“i could never get rid of him. he’s too good of a boy. isn’t—“ sneeze. “that right?” he tickles seol under his chin.

“wow. you must really love him.”

“so much.”

“he’s lucky to have you.”

“what about you? you get both of us. doesn’t that make you the luckiest?”

you snort. “i guess it does.”

4. he makes a good shopping buddy.

“i have officially cooked everything we have.”

“i can order some takeout, if you want?”

he juts his lower lip out and gives you puppy eyes. “but i like to cook for you.”

you laugh at his expression. “oh god, you look like that one pouty emoji people use when they try to be cute.”

he sits up. “did it work?”

you nod and pinch his cheek.

he yelps. “ah, stop! you’re acting like my grandma!” he manages to get out of your grasp. he rubs his face, soothing the spots you had squeezed. “seriously, though, we really do need to stock up on food.”

“i’ve already been looking into it.” you show him the screen of your phone. “says here you can still go shopping as long as you wear a mask and try to stay six feet away from other shoppers.”

he cringes. “i don’t know if i like the idea of being so close to so many people.”

“i can go by myself, then,” you suggest with a shrug.

he doesn’t hesitate to deny you. “no way are you going alone.” his possessive tone has you staring at him curiously so he adds, “you know, in case you can’t reach something on the top shelf.”

the teasing comment paired with his innocent smile makes you gasp in disbelief. “lee jeno! that’s low! and to think i almost thought you were worried about me.”

“who said i wasn’t?” he smiles at you again before standing up. “i’m going to find us some masks and then we can head out.”

once you arrive at your local grocery store, you find it to be packed. everyone seems to be in a hurry, grabbing things left and right.

“wow, it’s already gotten crazy,” jeno mumbles, stopping to stare at the flood of people that rush by.

you don’t hesitate to scold him. “well, don’t just stand there! we gotta get our stuff before there’s nothing left!”

without another word you slip into the frenzy of people. jeno struggles to stay behind you. after almost losing sight of you a couple times, he walks a little faster to catch up and places his arm firmly around your waist once he does. you look up at him, your mask covering your slightly agape mouth.

being the gentleman he is, he apologizes. “sorry but i don’t want us to get separated.”

you can only nod and mumble, “good idea.”

jeno pushes the shopping cart with his right hand and holds your figure with his left. once in a while, you’ll break apart from each other to grab an item you need but once it’s in the cart, he’ll make sure you end up in the same position. after an hour or so, you’ve grabbed enough and you decide it’s time to pay.

despite the mask she has on, you can tell the middle-aged woman behind the cash register has a big smile on her face once she catches sight of you and your roommate.

“well, just look at you two.” she sighs. “how cute.”

“oh.” you glance at her then jeno then her again. “oh, no. it’s not like that.”

you attempt to move yourself away from jeno only to find his grip to be so incredibly strong that you almost begin to think he’s trying to hold you in place. once you finally detach yourself from him, you begin loading your groceries onto the counter for the employee to scan. she does so, but not before giving you a displeased look.

“oh really? he holds you like that because you aren’t together?”

jeno assists her in placing the scanned items in bags. “i didn’t want to lose her.”

she pauses scanning a can of tuna to stare him down. “darling, that sounds like a line from a cheesy hallmark rom-com.”

you can’t help but chuckle. “what he means is that there’s a lot of people here and we didn’t want to get separated.”

jeno adds, “desperate times calls for desperate measures.”

the woman adjusts her glasses. “well, you do certainly seem desperate to have her close to you.”

jeno doesn’t say a word as he continues bagging but his smile reaches his eyes.

5. he works out.

why did the pandemic have to hit in the middle of summer?

you often asked yourself this, complaining about how inconvenient it was. especially on the days that made your apartment feel like it was on fire. the days that required a thin tank top and shorts. even then, you found yourself to be drenched in sweat.

you sprawled your arms and legs farther on the sofa, the leather material proving to be very uncomfortable. it was either that or your bed with the warm cotton sheets that stuck to your body. just thinking about it brings you discomfort. the only relief you could think of was a cold shower. you would have already taken one if jeno hadn’t been hogging the one bathroom in the apartment.

“jeno!” you yell.

silence; other than the sound of the water running.

“lee jeno!”

the water stops, temporarily for him to shout back an answer. “what?!”

you wipe at the sweat that has accumulated on the bridge of your nose. “hurry up! i’m melting!”

the water starts back up again and you groan. hoping to distract yourself, you pull out your phone. the group chat with your friends is surprisingly silent so you go to instagram for some entertainment. this time, your ex-boyfriend’s post isn’t the first thing you see. it takes you some scrolling but you do end up seeing another one of his pictures.

it’s simply two intertwined hands with a black and white filter. you identify the one on the left as his and although you aren’t as familiar with the one on the right, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it belongs to. contrary to the last, this photo has no cheesy words for a caption, just a red heart.

but, your stomach doesn’t drop. you don’t feel hurt, either. obviously, you still don’t enjoy seeing him just because of all the awful memories that came with it but other than that, you feel unaffected by the image.

in fact, you feel so confident in yourself that you block him.

you’re surprised you hadn’t done it sooner. you had known you didn’t need him in your life any longer so why keep in contact? you feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders when you press the red button that would keep him and his girlfriend out of your life. you knew with your whole heart that you didn’t need to see either of them.

before, a bit if you had felt the need to keep an eye on him. to see how he was handling the breakup and torture yourself with the fact that he didn’t seem to care. now, you could say you truly didn’t either. you didn’t need him or his stupid pictures. you had other, better things.

your friends.

your cat (yes, you considered seol to be yours).

your roommate.

you had to admit, jeno was the best thing on that list. quarantine had brought you and him significantly closer and you were over the moon about it. he was so wonderful that you kicked yourself for having lived with him for so long without ever really getting to know him. but it was easy to say you two were making up for lost time seeing as you spent every waking moment together. the record long showers jeno took being an exception, of course.

the moment the door to the bathroom opens, you rush into your room and quickly grab an oversized t-shirt and loose pajama pants to change into after your shower. you nearly drop them when you’re met with jeno’s soaking figure in the hallway.

his hair is damp and you can clearly see how long it had become. his skin looks healthy and moisturized, lotion among other skin care products had probably been applied. what really has you in a shock is the fact that the towel barely hangs below his waist. the droplets of water that fall from his hair and down his neck trail down his chest and toned torso towards the only area he has bothered to cover up. his bulky arms are also slightly wet, his veins popping noticeably. he shakes his head in an attempt to rid his hair of any water. then he runs his fingers through it, his muscles flexing ever so slightly as he does so.

“dude!” you exclaim, without a second thought. “you’re ripped!”

he smiles, his round cheeks growing at the unexpected praise. the way he could have such a rugged body but soft-featured face puzzled you to no extent. “thank you. i lift sometimes.”

“sometimes?” you repeat. “don’t be so humble! you’re basically hercules!”

he clicks his tongue. “ah, c’mon. i’m just an athletic person.”

you keep admiring his physique. “clearly.”

“oh god,” he groans, obviously flustered. “you’re looking at me like you’re gonna eat me or something.”

you hold yourself back from making a less than appropriate innuendo. “no comment.”

his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “quarantine is really making you go crazy.”

you point a finger at him. “you try being stuck inside with your hot roommate!”

“trust me, y/n, i know all about hot roommates.”

you tilt your head, acting purposefully oblivious. “are you talking about doyoung?”

“what? no i—“ he sighs. “you know what, just take your shower.”

6. you can’t say no to him.

jeno ruffles his black locks with his hand and frowns.

you give him a disappointed look. “knock it off, you’re gonna get dandruff in your soup.”

he ignores your comment. “i look like a hobo.”

you pause, spoon halfway to your mouth. “this i know.”

“y/n, this is serious!”

“okay, okay. what’s the issue?”

“i already told you! i’m a bum!”

“you? a bum?” you pause to think about it. “i mean, mentally? maybe. but physically? no.”

“my hair, though. it’s so long.” he grabs a strand of it and pulls it to emphasize his point.

you shrug. “if having lots of hair is the standard for being a bum, i think most of the population is.”

“i want to cut it,” he announces.

“you should,” you say, pointing your spoon at him. “wanna know why? because if you mess up, no one will ever know. other than me, of course. but if you pay me enough i’ll let you forget it.”

he smiles at the joke for a moment before he leans forward and his face goes serious. “will you help me?”

“what? no way. i’ll mess up. and it’s only funny if you do it.”

he pouts. “please?”

you stir your soup around. “just watch some youtube videos. after three, you’re automatically a professional.”

“i want you.”

the statement has your neck snapping up from your bowl to him. the smug grin on his face lets you know that he was well aware of the double meaning behind his words. it was clear he was trying to fluster you enough to get a yes.

“you think you’re flirty enough to straight up brainwash me into doing stuff?”

“well, i wanted to say that to you anyway but... kind of?”

you feel a smile creep onto your lips at hearing the genuine tone in his voice. you down your last few spoonfuls of soup and quickly stand up. jeno looks up at you, eyes hopeful.

“finish your dinner. get the scissors. meet me in the bathroom.”

not even ten minutes later, jeno practically dances into the bathroom, a pair of red craft scissors in his hand. he sits on top of the toilet lid, figuring that’d be the easiest way for you to reach him. you walk in moments later.

“i’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to be using these types of scissors for hair,” he mumbles as he hands you the sharp utensil.

you twirl them in your hand. “oh, definitely not. do you want to wait then?”

he shakes his head, his shaggy bangs swaying with the movement.

“alright, let’s get this going then.” you thread your hands through his thick locks to collect some of it in between two of your fingers. you bring the scissors forward and snip the small amount just to test the waters.

you slowly begin to get more comfortable and once you feel like you’re in your element, things begin to speed up. you move and cut faster but with efficiency. you do the spots on the back of his head and work your way forward. when it finally comes time to touch up his bangs, your small bathroom proves to be an inadequate spot to be doing this.

you end up standing balanced inches above jeno’s thighs that he’s pressed together tightly in an attempt to give you more room. you’re constantly readjusting your stance and when he notices, his hands go to your hips. you know he’s just trying to help you stay upright so you do a decent job but you still inhale sharply at the feeling of his hands on you.

not long after, you’re standing next to jeno as he inspects himself in the mirror. his fingers flick his newly shortened bangs around.

“not bad.” he tilts his head in a new angle and nods. “looks super good to me.”

you tuck the scissors into your back pocket with a relieved sigh. “oh thank god. i didn’t want to tell you before we started but i only watched two youtube tutorials on trimming hair.”

he runs a hand through his hair with a chuckle. “now that’s truly worthy of praise. and a tip.”

you raise a brow. “oh yeah? what’s th—“

he cuts you off by pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. he pulls back and drags his thumb over the skin that has come into contact with his lips. “thanks again.” with that, he leaves you standing in the bathroom, eyes wide and face warm.

7. he has six best friends.

“can i borrow your laptop?” asks jeno, from outside your door, nearly breathless.

you look up from your book. “uh yeah, sure.”

he rushes in your room and takes the item off of your dresser. “do you happen to have zoom on it?”

you shake your head and he groans. without another word, he disappears, running off into the living room. you hear his frustrated sighs as the minutes pass and he attempts to download the application. you finally decide to go check it out once it becomes too much to bear.

“it sounds like you’re in pain over here,” you comment.

he runs a hand through his hair. “i’m supposed to meet with my friends through a zoom call but it’s so complicated.”

you put a hand on your hip. “bet you five bucks i’ll be able to get it in five minutes.”

“are you kidding? i might be technologically challenged but i’m not stupid. i know you can do it fast, just help me out already, would you?”

“alright, grandpa.”

you type and click away at the screen, jeno watching you do so, entranced but equally as lost.

“well, i was wrong,” you say after a couple moments, leaning back in your chair.

“you couldn’t get it?” asks jeno, worriedly.

“no, it’s not that.” you click something on the screen and the app opens. “turns out i could do it in three.”

he rolls his eyes and shoos you out of the chair. he sits down and enters the code and password for the zoom meeting. it takes a minute, but he finally connects. you count six other people in the call. they all immediately cheer at seeing jeno and you hear them excitedly exclaim his name.

“hey guys,” he says, a smile already reaching his eyes. “it’s so good to see your faces.”

they all nod to agree. you get a good look at each one of them and realize they’re all boys. your eyes read over each of their display names.

mark me in ur heart

hyuckie~~~

moomin enthusiast

nananananana

chnele

lil huddy

“nice name, jeno,” ‘moomin enthusiast’ guy comments, snickering slightly. “glad to see you finally came to terms with it.”

‘jenojam’, his name reads. the rest of the group laughs, also teasing him about it. you assume it’s some kind of inside joke.

the self proclaimed ‘lil huddy’ furrows his eyebrows. “wait, did you choose that name yourself?”

jeno simply nods in response.

he glares into the camera. “donghyuck, you told me i had to put this as my name or else it wouldn’t let me connect!”

donghyuck—or ‘hyuckie~~~’, you presume—shrugs. “oops. guess i was wrong.”

you laugh at the humorous exchange. it seems like the sound has drawn some attention to you when ‘nananananana’ speaks up, eyes trained on you.

“um jeno? don’t you want to introduce your guest?”

jeno beams, dragging you closer into the frame. “i’m sure you all know about my roommate. say hi, y/n.”

you do so, waving and smiling politely at the group.

“you know, even though we used to always hang at jeno’s, i don’t think we’ve ever actually seen your face,” ‘chnele’ says, tilting his head.

you agree. “me neither. i’ve mostly just heard you guys.”

the ‘mark me in your heart’ boy sheepishly rubs his neck. “sorry. we tend to be a little loud.”

‘chnele’ lets out a high pitched screech of a laugh. “only a little?”

“i recognize that laugh!” you blurt. “i would hear it all the time!”

”that’s our little dolphin,” coos ‘hyuckie~~~’.

“oh god, stop. i hate that stupid nickname.”

“it’s well deserved.”

“i think you should apologize to y/n for being a nightmare to her eardrums.”

“and ours, for that matter.”

“what about all your little freestyles? i’ve had to sit through hundreds of them and i never got an apology!”

“because they’re not bad! could you do any better?”

“you’re a soundcloud rapper, i think anyone could.”

jeno turns to you as the bickering on screen gets louder and louder. “this is gonna be a long call.”

once the group has moved on from roasting the life out of each other, you’re able to engage in some good-natured conversation. jeno teaches you the names and the other basics about the group. some points that stand out about the group is that mark is the oldest, renjun specializes in contemporary dance, jaemin inhales six cups of coffee on the daily, and chenle is insanely rich.

“what about jeno?” you ask them. “anything i should know about him?”

“he’s allergic to cats but the idiot still adopted—“

“she already knows about that, renjun,” jeno chuckles.

“oh. well. that’s pretty much the only interesting thing about him.”

jisung pipes up. “oh wait! he works out religiously too!”

you and jeno share a look. you burst into laughter and he simply glances away, slightly embarrassed. “oh yeah, i know that all too well.”

“and what about the unhealthy cooking obsession?”

you nod at mark’s question. “that too. he cooks dinner almost every night around here.”

renjun purses his lips. “he already cooks for you? wow. he must really like you.”

“you think?” jaemin asks. “didn’t you read any of the messages in the group chat? he’s practically in love with her. his words, not mi—“

“okay! i think it’s time for us to go! bye guys!” jeno doesn’t even give you a chance to say your own goodbye before he’s clicking the ‘end call’ button in the bottom right corner.

you give him a confused look. “what was that all about?”

“they’re crazy.” he laughs. “well, if you need me i’ll be in my room screaming into my pillow for the next couple hours.” he dashes off leaving you standing alone, trying to comprehend what had happened.

8. he‘s a great listener.

jeno has officially replaced seol as your movie buddy, not that you have a problem with it. you thought it was nice to have someone you could actually converse with but of course, you make sure seol still sits in.

“what i’m saying is that iron man just wants to protect his team.”

“well, if they sign the accords, they basically surrender themselves to the government.”

“and?”

“you don’t see a problem with that? see, captain america knows what he’s doing. he’s literally an avenger—“

“so is iron man!”

“let me finish! so, he’s an avenger, right? he has the best judgment because he’s saved the world countless times. he knows how to operate his team and do the right thing.”

“okay but there’s casualties. and that’s what iron man is trying to fix.”

“how do you save the world and not have casualties?”

“you just—“ your phone rings mid argument and you raise your finger towards jeno. “this isn’t over.” you put the phone to your ear, not bothering to check the caller id. “hello?”

“sweetheart?”

you feel a chill go up your spine. was it him? no, it couldn’t be. you had blocked his number shortly after you did so on all your social media.

“baby, don’t be so shy. i know you’re there.”

you can’t hold back. “please don’t call me that.”

he chuckles, breathlessly. “oh, c’mon. you used to love it. you still do.”

“no, i don’t. actually, i don’t want to hear your stupid pet names or stupid voice or see any of your stupid posts. just go bother your girlfriend and leave me alone.”

you notice jeno perk up beside you out of the corner of your eye. he must have been caught off guard by your irritated tone.

as always, lucas is unaffected by you. “i’m being nice and giving you a second chance. i even called you behind soyeon’s back.”

“is that something i’m supposed to reward you for?” you scoff. “congratulations, you’re now awful, toxic, and a cheater.”

he growls. the sound was familiar. in your relationship, if you heard it you knew he was going to snap at you until he had the satisfaction of making you cry. “i know you miss me so don’t say things you’re going to regret later. because even when you’re back in my arms, i won’t let you forget it.”

the thought of being back with him made you feel icky. but the fact that he sincerely thought you would crawl back to him set your entire body on fire. “are you joking? i was always aware of the fact that you treated me like the dirt you walked on but do you seriously think that lowly of me?”

you’re rendered speechless and apparently, so is he because the other line stays silent.

“i wouldn’t go back to you if you were the last person on earth,” you spit. “you treated me horribly, wong yukhei. i won’t ever forget it. move on. i have.”

you glance at jeno, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are trained on your cellphone. the glare he gives the device is so strong you wouldn’t be surprised if even lucas could feel it, wherever he was.

you hang up and block the number, wishing to never talk to him again. you toss your phone onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh. you find jeno’s gaze to still be focused intensely on it.

“if you gave lucas that look, i’m pretty sure he’d cry.”

he breaks his concentration, eyes going to you instead. his entire face softens. “all i’m going to say is he better pray we never cross paths.”

“well, if you happen to, call me up. i wouldn’t mind helping you beat the crap out of him.”

jeno chuckles for a second then lowers his voice to a whisper. “he was really bad to you, huh?”

you nod. “he messed me up. i hate to admit it ‘cause i know i was stupid to stay with him for as long as i did.”

your roommate shakes his head. “don’t say that. it’s not your fault he messed up the best thing that would ever happen to him.”

“i thought i was the problem for so long, jeno. i was so blinded by love. then, i realized there was no way he truly cared for me when he treated me like i had no heart to be broken.”

jeno scoots towards you and rubs soothing circles into your arm. “you have such a big heart. and i can’t tell you how sorry i am that he took advantage of that. i’m sorry that you were stuck with someone so insecure and ignorant. please, don’t think about him anymore.”

you hold in your tears. you refused to cry over someone like lucas. “i know. i try so hard not to.”

jeno holds your head into his chest. his arms are placed securely on your back. “oh, baby.”

when jeno uses this pet name on you, it feels so completely different from lucas. you could tell me meant it. he wasn’t using it to make you stay a little longer, to assure you he loved you. strangely enough, you do not need to be convinced of that. you feel like you have known it for a long time.

9. he likes to be the big spoon.

you’re not sure how he’s done it but you end up falling asleep in jeno’s arms. you assume it had been so long since you had been cradled and rocked so delicately that the foreign yet extremely delightful sensation knocked you right out. even seol is deep in sleep, laying down peacefully at your feet.

you relish in the feeling of jeno pressed right into your back. he fits so perfectly against you that it reminds you of a puzzle piece. to be exact, the moment when you connect the last two pieces and the full picture becomes complete. that was how you felt—complete.

with jeno’s soft breaths tickling the back of your neck and his soft snores filling your ear, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. his arm that is wrapped around you makes sure you can’t escape his embrace. you are positive that even if you had the liberty of doing so, you would stay exactly where you were.

you lean farther back into your pillow, closing your eyes. you let every thought fade away as you try to fall back asleep as soon as possible. you wanted the moment you found yourself in to last as long as possible.

10. he has feelings for you.

jeno mumbles sweet nothings into your ear as he toys with your hair.

it just seemed right to him. like something he was meant to do with you. he had seen these types of things in films and shows before. it was intimate and touching, the scenes were always meant to tug at the audience’s heart strings and show how in love the two characters were. perhaps, even though you lay asleep in his arms, he wants you to finally know.

“honestly, being inside with you all the time is kind of the best. i know the whole virus situation is less than ideal but being able to spend so much time with you... that’s all i could ask for.” he pauses. “isn’t it so crazy how before this we were all weird and awkward around each other? well, i guess we still kind of are. that’s mostly my fault so... sorry. i just don’t know how to act around you sometimes. we’re barely getting close and i’m already this attached to you. as jisung would so kindly say, ‘i’m simping’.” he chuckles to himself. “all jokes aside, i really do like you. ever since you moved in here all cute and nervous, you’ve taken your own little place in my heart, as cheesy as it sounds. and these past few weeks, you just keep on taking up more and more room in there. not that i have a problem with it. i just...” he stops as if he doesn’t know how else to express his feelings. “really, really like you.”

“thanks.”

you feel him jolt then abruptly stop stroking your hair. there’s silence until he asks, “you don’t happen to be a sleep talker, do you?”

you shake your head.

“and did you hear like, a lot of what i said?”

“only the important stuff. like how awkward you are and how much you like me.”

“o-oh.”

“but don’t worry. it’s mutual.”

you feel his relieved breath hit the skin of your neck. “that’s the best thing i’ve heard all day.”

you tilt your head back and stare at him, confused. “what, did you seriously think i wasn’t into you?”

he shrugs. “i was too busy simping, i guess.”

you can’t contain your laughter at the use of the slang. “park jisung would not be proud.”

4K notes · View notes

scarlettscribbles · 3 years ago

Text

Savior [iv]

- Msgr. John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Reader

← previous ✧ masterlist ✧ next →

Tags: 3.4k words - Vampire lore, found family fluff, non-sexual nakedness

Tags-list: @wolfieellsworld @maximumcoffeeme @allergic-to-reality @asirensrage @aoiseiichi @misselsbells06

Warning/s: Blood, injury (self-inflicted and not), brief allusion to suicide, blood drinking

Summary: You and John have a conversation under the stars. In an effort to explain, you tell him a part of your story. John decides on his future.

a/n: been writing some non-fun college requirements i'm so tired lol gonna rewatch midnight mass and hoping to write more this coming break though !

✧ + ✧

It was incredibly late, and as such, all the lights from the houses had been extinguished. There was little sound besides what could be heard from the insects and various small animals.

John repressed the urge to fake stumble around because of the darkness. You knew what–who he was and you were the same, or something similar. Maybe. John was incredibly curious. You initially displayed anger at knowing what he had done. You seemed to dislike the creature, so there's a bit of contention whether or not his theory was even correct.

But then again, he seemed to get a lot of things wrong nowadays. How did he think it was a good idea to bring it to the island? A vampire - that creature he once called Angel.

He should've known it was something bad when he did unlawful things just to get it into Crockett.

"We're here." You sat on the ledge of a small cliff. The trees that surrounded the area were a perfect cover. The moon shone overhead, serving as the only source of light.

✧ + ✧

"So, how are you?" you started off. As the monsignor sat beside you, it was noticeable that he put some space in between you. His tall frame was bent over. His guilt was palpable.

"Fine, all things considered. I'm still praying, asking for forgiveness." You wondered if it was a conscious action when he fiddled with his clerical tab as he said that.

You let the gentle breeze blow past before you spoke. "Were there any casualties? Besides the fauna of this island?"

"On Crockett, no. But on the way..." he trailed off.

"It had to feed. Of course," you clicked your tongue at the roof of your mouth. "Did it turn anybody else?" You braced yourself, but the tenseness drained out of you at his following answer.

"No, no." the monsignor sighed at the admittance. "Although I put– used to put blood in the, uh. Wine."

"Thus, Leeza, and everybody else going Benjamin Button," you concluded. "Thankfully, that amount shouldn't be able to turn them. It'll take some days, but their blood should still be human enough that they can filter it." you stated, noting the relief in his body language. "You, on the other hand,"

He looked up at you, the moon illuminating his wide eyes. For someone who was halfway to being a vampire, he sure did look like prey right now. "You called me a fledgling. What is that?"

"Give me your non-dominant arm," you said, pulling out a small switchblade. You gripped the hem of his sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. "I'm going to make a small cut to test your blood. I need you not to freak out, okay?" He nodded, and you proceeded to lightly press the blade on the meat of his arm until a droplet of blood welled up. You swiped it with your thumb and stuck it in your mouth, fighting the urge to gag. You really hadn't preferred to feed on this for so long.

(Despite this, you felt the feeling coming from him again. You're one more incident away from considering it real.)

You gave the monsignor a small hanky to wipe away the remains. "As suspected. Been drinking a lot, have you?" You scrunched your face. The taste of the blood won't go away, even if it was just minuscule. You could still sense the iron at the back of your tongue. "Usually, it would filter out but your blood is primarily vampiric now. You've been drinking too much for too long. That's why you're a fledgling. The only thing separating you from extreme sun allergy is death."

"You've been feeling unwell, right? Don't lie or brush it off; I've seen you after Leeza's miracle."

"Sarah said it was a virus," he stated.

"She's not wrong. I'd say with how long it's been, give or take a day or two before it attacks your system, kills you, and then resurrects you, all brand new and ready to kill."

"I'm going to die?" he asked imploringly. "I've longed for blood but only the – its blood. You mean to say-?"

"It's inevitable. It's making its way through your body right now. Once you resurrect, you'll be just like it. Second-generation but dangerous just the same."

"But if I - if after I just go out in the sun," You inhaled sharply. You weren't surprised that it crossed his mind. People who had sense usually didn't want to live if it meant being a monster.

"Do you want to?" you said, staring off into the moon.

The waves splashed against the rocks on the shore. The sea was at ease, unlike the man sitting next to you. As the wind blew, the leaves rustled. The animals would make little noises. It's your very own symphony.

"I want to live." he gasped. "But I don't want to hurt anyone."

You smiled sadly. "Okay." You wished it was as simple as that word. Okay. Coming to this island, you never expected that you would entertain the idea of turning someone, much less actually do it. To have someone like you. "Would you be scared if I were to say I'm the same monster?"

The monsignor pursed his lips at the last word. "I had my suspicions but I didn't know exactly what you were. You can walk in the sun."

You nodded, folding your knees and hugging them close. "The common definition of a vampire denotes a creature that takes the life force of a person by getting their blood. Technically true, but not entirely. Vampires do take life force, but it doesn't have to be blood. Not always. The blood is what makes them burn."

"Get yourself comfortable, monsignor. I'm about to share my tragic backstory."

"John, please." he corrected gently. "Paul in front of others."

"Yes, Father." you teased. "I'm a third-generation one. This...man was turned, and he created a bunch of us. Called himself Master. We had our own mansion you know, massive cliché. The creature lived with us. If the Master was the lord of the manor, it was a God." you remembered navigating those dark hallways. Your heart would constantly pound, hearing the flap of its wings and seeing the glowing eyes. "At first, I was like them. I fed on blood, on people but I grew tired of it. Every night a different kill. It's only sometimes they get spared because the creature wanted to turn them. I didn't want to be there anymore, but where was I going to go?"

"I've been gone for so long. No money, no anything. It's been instilled within us that going out of the manor meant certain death. I was hopeless until she came."

You remembered her by the red of her lips. Red was a second-generation who killed her maker. Master feared her.

She came to the mansion one day, literally during the day, which was unheard of for vampires. Her arrival was met with shock and fear. But she quickly assuaged the Master that she meant no harm (not yet). Red merely wanted to talk of a new way of life she discovered for your kind.

Curiosity won over Master, and soon the entire household gathered in the rarely-used ballroom. You caught Red's eye under her massive hat before she went in front and spoke.

Her words were majorly met with curiosity by the others, and oh, Master was not pleased. Not at all. A way for vampires to feed without the blood-sucking and murder? Absolutely outrageous, he had said, it’s shirking traditions. But it was too late because the proverbial hive had been kicked and the entire ballroom was abuzz. None other more than you.

That sliver of hope was what made you seek out Red before she left. You talked and she agreed to turn you in exchange for something.

"What was the price?" John asked.

"My life," you answered. "But that's a story for another day." You watched the first touches of orange appear on the horizon.

"My point is that there's another way. You would still be a vampire but a different kind. There's more than one life force in a human," you paused. "Desire."

"I am under a vow of celibacy." He immediately informed you cautiously. You reared back, laughing.

"Why did you immediately think of sex?" You gleefully watched him flush.

"Isn't it?"

"Not necessarily!" you exclaimed before you lowered your voice in a faux-secretive manner. "Although I hear it makes it better,"

Paul exclaimed your name, putting a hand over his hand like a particular uptight woman witnessing something scandalous. For a moment, you both just partook in the good spirits between two friends.

"Will it be painful?" he asked. There was an unspoken 'again' at the end of his sentence.

"Like hell," you confirmed, remembering your own experience. The heat before and after was excruciating. "Maybe it wouldn't be as bad for you though, fledgling. You have to take my blood for some time. A lot of it. It needs to overpower what you currently have right now. Then, you will need constant exposure to sunlight, just take a walk every morning. Burn off all the remaining blood-sucker in your veins."

"You had to do that?" his brows furrowed in concern. You nodded. The scorching was really, really fucking painful. Red had to hold you down to keep you from escaping. The light didn't turn you to ashes or make your skin boil, but it felt like that nonetheless.

"That's the heat before; the after will be within your body. The blood has some kind of sentience and since there’ll be two different types in your stream, they’ll fight it out. You will be feverish in the next couple of days. It will abate eventually but there's a way to make it better faster." You locked yourself in your room then, flashes of skin and incredible feeling going through your brain. "Masturbation, or sex, but I suppose one of those is already a no-no for you. That's fine. Having a partner in the heat could be complicated anyway."

This time he really did look appalled. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, I see. Pain is okay but you draw the line at getting off." You shook your head, smile stretching your cheeks. Although you loved seeing him flustered at your teasing, you relented and patted his shoulder. "You don't have to, don't worry. It just would help. A lot."

He fiddled with his collar and cleared his throat. "What," he began. "What about you? What did you do?"

Your smile grew into a grin. How bold of him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Perhaps you were too preoccupied with the way the growing light reflected in his eyes. If not, you wouldn't have missed that burst of feeling again.

✧ + ✧

Just as the sun rose, John made his decision. From the moment he realized the creature's actual being, he regretted ever accepting the blood. Regretted every moment savoring the drink. He'd almost led the congregation to the same fate. Even dearest Millie and Sarah. That is if it weren't for you.

He called your name gently. He feared it might've been too soft because you didn't stir for a moment. John's breath caught when you turned. "I'll do it. I'm not sure about some of the logistics, but..."

"Alright then." In a flash, you whipped out your switchblade and sunk it into your non-dominant arm. It was instinct that drove John to stop you, but he remembered himself as you laid a hand on his shoulder.

You rose on your knees and edged closer. "Drink," you said to him. John gripped the base of your elbow with one hand and your palm in another. "Be free of the shame."

He looked up at you. The way you blocked the light gave your form what seemed like glowing edges. Otherworldly.

John leaned forward and took the blessing.

✧ + ✧

You can barely feel your arm. John has been drinking from you for a few days now, and he's been filling his quota to a tee. You felt like a mother having a newborn. Your first creation, god, it's still so weird to think about it.

You've started sensing him too. Mostly how he feels because the tether isn't strong enough to make his thoughts readable. It's like having an alarm clock for mass. His feelings are the strongest when he's conducting mass, whether in the church or somewhere else. You didn't know where else he was going, but it wasn't your business.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed as you dropped your phone for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked from his morning coffee. Everyone from the table was looking at you.

"Yeah, yeah. Butterfingers," you winced as you bent down and picked it up again.

"They're going to release our grades on Sunday," Ali mentioned as you made your way to breakfast.

"What time is it?"

"Cool," you responded as you reclined back on the stool. Ali made a motion to you, completely ignoring his father.

"What do you mean, cool? You promised me!"

You smirked into your cup, feigning confusion. "What promise?"

Ali broke off into unintelligible spluttering, and you broke, laughing. "I know, I know. Calm down, I haven't forgotten."

"Well it feels like it. You haven't gone to the mainland in ages, so unless you bought it in advance..." You set down your cup. Huh. He was right. You haven't fed in quite some time. You didn't want to delve deep into the implications of that.

"Because," you reached across the table to pinch his nose. "I don't even know if you deserve it yet, twerp!" You were kidding. You already wanted a Switch before you told him that if he got straight As in his subjects, you would get him one.

He took it seriously, and by that you meant really seriously. You felt kind of guilty since you were going to buy one anyway but it doesn't hurt him to have a little motivation.

"But I computed it and I'm sure!"

"Sure, buddy." You checked your calendar. You had plans for Sunday then.

After breakfast, you helped Hassan clean the dishes as Ali went to school and Joe walked Pike who was making a steady recovery.

"Are you sure about buying him that, uh, that-"

"Switch? Yup," you toweled off the plate he handed you. "I was gonna buy one anyway. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." Hassan paused. "Thank you. Don't expect me to play, though."

"Nuh-uh. I fully oblige you to play. You'll like it. Maybe I'll get you your own so you can do something when you're not trying to pretend to do your paperwork."

Hassan gaped at you for calling him out. "Where are you even getting money from?"

"Family funds." It was true, in a sense. Master was fucking wealthy, and Red didn't want to touch anything from him. "Tell me when you're done getting the grades, okay? I'll buy it on the day so it can be a surprise-ish."

✧ + ✧

You squinted at the text Hassan sent you. The ferry stopped and the operator called you. You responded a thanks before you got off, paper bags of goods on your arm.

We're at the church.

You knew that there was an ongoing mass from your tether with John, but why were they there? You didn't reply and instead started lightly jogging on the way. The last time you were there was when Leeza was able to walk.

The path began leading into an open space. Mass had just finished, so people were filing out. You spotted Hassan first, hands on his waist. Ali was just beside him, and you opened your arms, slowing to a walk.

"How's our boy?" You stopped and dropped your arms when his head stayed bowed. "What's up?"

"I missed one. It was my project grade, but I was so sure I did everything right!" Your brows lifted in surprise.

“What subject?”

"Theology." Oh. You immediately knew whose fault it was. Across the clearing, you made eye contact with Beverly Keane. Shit. You were happy to forget the woman but it seemed like she remembered you. And what you did.

This was incredibly low of her though. Ali had nothing to do with this. You'd deal with her later.

"Doesn't matter, look!" You thrust out the paper bag. Ali rifled through the contents, and he almost dropped the bag if not for Hassan's reflexes. “In my infinite generosity, I’ll count out one subject.”

"No way!" Ali jumped up and hugged you. You wrapped your arms around him, making eye contact with Hassan over his shoulder. "Can I go set it up at home? My friends want to help too, dad, please?"

Hassan sighed and made a 'go ahead' motion. At an instant, Ali ran off. For a moment, you and Hassan simply looked at him, relieved that he found renewed energy.

"Fucking Keane, huh?" You hissed between your teeth.

"I'm going to have a migraine." he rubbed a hand down his face.

You needed to get a moment with that lady. Alone. "Do you need another movie and junk food night? I'll tell Joe to bring the dips."

"No, I think we've been having too many of those." he laughed. "I'll swing by the house to check on the kids before going back to the station to numb my brain with some paperwork."

"It doesn't really look like it." you responded and poked his side lightly, laughing when he jolted. "You sure?" you asked again, and he nodded.

A light clearing of the throat caught your attention. You looked at him from his slim jeans to his usual shirt. "Good day, Father." John returned the greeting. You two exchanged a knowing look. Surveying his face, you could see the little details. The crinkle of his eyes, the smile tugging at his lips.

Hassan cleared his throat. "And good day to you too, Sheriff."

"Likewise."

After those brief but very awkward greetings, John called your name again. "-May I excuse you for a moment?" No way. Did he need to feed again? Your most recent cut hasn't even healed over yet.

"Sure." Before you went, you regarded Hassan, "See you at home later!" He waved back at you, looking confused.

The moment you and John stepped inside the church, he slumped against you. Only then you noticed how high his temperature was. His heat was starting. "We need to get you to your rectory." You draped his arm over your shoulder. "Come on,"

An irritating voice called your name. "Excuse me, where are you taking him? Father, are you alright? What have you done to him you -"

You really didn't have time for this. "Beverly Keane, fuck off." The moment you opened your lips, you knew that she knew it was coming. She exclaimed a "no!" and tried to cover her ears and shut her eyes, but then it was too late. She turned back with purple eyes and closed the doors behind her. You really needed to clean that mess up with her later.

"What was that?" John rasped.

"Glamour. A little perk of being this kind of vampire. I'll teach you after. It's pretty hard to get at first, but you just need a lot of practice. You're a priest though, so it might be easier because you're used to carrying out words with power." An idea popped into your head. Keane would be an excellent training dummy for your little fledgling's abilities.

You practically kicked the door open and led John to his bed. "Strip," you commanded.

"What?"

"Do you want me to dump ice water on you in your clothes?" you replied while turning on the faucet and getting ice from his fridge.

"I-I don't," John stuttered.

You paused in front of him and put your foreheads together. "I'm sorry if I've given you a reason for concern, I'm not going to do anything-"

"That's not what I was thinking!"

"Then what is it? Shame?" How very Catholic of him. "John, listen to me. I'm your maker. You've drunk blood from my veins; you're going to be reborn from that blood. I've literally felt your emotions through our tether. You can let go of this shame, John. We've already surpassed so many boundaries that this, should be nothing."

"But if you really don't want-"

"No." He started pulling off his clerical tab first before unbuttoning his shirt. Once he was naked save for his boxers, you assisted in sitting him up on the bed. Supporting his head, you began wiping the cold towel all over him, shushing him whenever he shivered. "You're going to gain more clarity tomorrow but the fever won't abate yet. Have you decided if-?"

"No, not yet," John whispered. "Please stay?"

You're going to have to get some food and clothes and inform your family, but, "Okay." you responded. "I'll be here, John."

✧ + ✧ [cont.]

#midnight mass #midnight mass x reader #father paul x reader #father paul hill #monsignor john pruitt #gender neutral reader #reader-insert #savior series #scarlettscribbles

139 notes · View notes

angry-geese · 3 years ago

Text

Blood Ties - Chapter Forty: Burdens

Soulmate au Choso x Reader

Warnings: depictions of violence and injury, murder, blood. The culling game kind of needs its own warning lol

A/n: anyway happy 1-year to this fic lol, sorry for the slight delay, I just didn't want to deal with tumblrs post editor jdgdjdj

Word count: 3.1k

Prev - next

Masterlist

[Shibuya, October 31st, 2018]

Moments ago, there was a curse here. It's gone now—fled down the stairs after some civilians.

You’re not picking up your phone.

Not that you normally answer when he calls. Not that he answers when you call. James dials your number again, holding his phone to his ear. Once again, he’s greeted with the sound of your voicemail. He leaves you another message:

“I need you to call me back when you get this. It's important.”

James prays it sounds urgent enough you’ll listen. But a rock has formed in the pit of his stomach, and he has the feeling that the only way this will end is badly.

There's a solid inch of standing water in this hallway. It pours down the stairs, and onto the tracks. It soaks through his shoes, sloshing with each step he takes. A pipe must have burst.

His steps pick up in pace at the sight of another person. Whether in fear or relief, he can't tell. The feeling in his chest is hard to pinpoint. But James knows one thing for certain; this is fear. A man without fear is no man at all. Perhaps that's what makes him human.

Choso’s expression is vacant. That's a lot of blood. Too much to be from one person. A living one, at least.

It runs down the front of his shirt in streams. The fabric is plastered to his chest with a mix of blood and sweat. The body he cradles is limp. Blood loss has rendered its eyes sunken, and skin pale. Sickly. A corpse.

And suddenly it clicks; why you haven't been answering the phone.

“What have you done? What have you done?!” James is yelling. He doesn't mean to yell.

“I didn't know.” Choso says. His voice trembles as he speaks. “I didn't know—you have to believe me!”

…

[Time until Tsumiki must declare participation in the game: 4 days, 19 hours]

"Park! Whitford!" Maria calls out. "Can you come here? Please?"

The vending machine to the left shudders as it kicks on. Fluorescent lights buzz incessantly overhead. When they enter the adjacent room, Maria closes and locks the door behind them. The body that lays upon the couch is unmoving, and cold to the touch. Blood has pooled below his eyes, making them appear bruised. His head is slumped forwards, and his arms are crossed in front of his chest, as if he’s simply sleeping.

“What happened?” Mallory asks. Her voice takes on an odd, clinical nature.

“He told me he wasn't feeling well, so he was going to go lay down.” Maria says. “I came in to check on him and he-” She clamps a hand over her mouth in order to stifle a sob.

James circles around the couch, before coming to a stop at the foot of it. He grabs ahold of an already stiffening wrist, turning it over to inspect it. No signs of self defense. His nails are in decent condition; no cracks, or cuts. The skin around his nails has been chewed bloody—caused by him, not another player. No wounds mark his wrists. Aside from blood pooling post-mortem, his skin is unmarked.

“Doesn't look like he was attacked,” James says.

If another player were to have broken into this room, they would have had a hard time doing so. Not only would they have to pick the lock on the front door, but sneak past the others too. Not an impossible task, but difficult. More effort than the average player would want to put in, considering the few points they’d earn.

"Do you know anything about his medical history?" Mallory asks. “Maybe he took something he was allergic to?”

"I can't say,” Maria says, sniffling, "he never mentioned being allergic to anything, but I didn't know him that well. He—he was a janitor at the school I worked at—that's where I recognized him from. He had more students with him and I couldn't—I didn't want to send him away.”

So he didn't take anything, and he wasn't attacked.

“Men in their thirties, and seemingly in decent health, don't just drop dead.” James says. “Something happened to him, and we can't rule out foul play. We need to get you guys out of here. Now.”

Maria throws herself between James and the body. "We can't let the kids see him!" She says. “We have to do something about the-” her composure fails entirely. Tears leave shiny trails down her cheeks.

“They won't know.” James says. “We’ll leave before they find out. But that means we need to leave. Now.”

Mallory grabs onto his bicep, her nails digging into his skin uncomfortably. When she speaks, her voice is low. “I'll get the kids. We'll meet you outside.”

When she steps out of the room, he can hear the sounds of the others beginning to stir. Mallory’s voice is faint. James can't discern what she’s saying.

After taking in a few shaky breaths, Maria relaxes slightly. “We need to bury him.” She says. "It's not right to leave him here!"

There's no time, James thinks.

“Those who die in this game will receive a proper burial,” he says. “That rule was put into place to prevent players from returning as cursed spirits.”

It's a total lie. But she doesn't need to know that.

Maria pauses, as if to consider this. Whether or not she believes him, James is uncertain.

“We've hardly had time to mourn our dead,” she says. “It's not right!”

“You'll get time,” he says. “I promise. But right now, that is a luxury we don't have.”

Her knuckles turn white as she clenches her fists. Slowly, Maria nods, mashing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets.

When they exit out onto the street, Mallory is waiting to greet them. Murmurs can be heard within the group. The students shuffle their feet, and bleary eyes fall upon their teacher.

Kids are often smarter than adults give them credit for. Most can pick up the subtle changes in expression, and tone of their guardians. And while they may not know the whole story, they understand something is terribly wrong.

“Alright, children!” Maria announces loudly. The smile that tears her face fails to reach her eyes. “We’re going to play a game!

“I know you’ve all had a long two weeks,” she continues, “and I know you’re all tired. But we’re taking a small field trip.” Maria motions vaguely to James, much to his dismay. “Mr. Whitford here is going to lead us!”

He stammers a moment, before collecting himself. “It's just like playing tag,” James says. “Any adult who isn't one of us is it, and you aren't. And you want to keep away from them at all costs,

“The goal is to make it to the subway station,” he continues, “that's the safe zone. They won't be able to tag you there,

“Once you arrive, there’ll be a funny little man that will show you the exit. He’ll respond to Kogane. He's like… the game master. So technically he’s not a player, but he still has an effect on the game.”

Assuming they can see him…

Maria makes a 'lead the way' motion at the two sorcerers.

Mallory takes the lead. At the back of the group are James, and Maria. Much like zombies, the students shuffle along.

At some point in time it starts raining. In a matter of minutes, the sky turns black, and a downpour begins. Visibility is limited greatly. It doesn't take long for the rain to soak through James’ coat, and plaster his hair to the nape of his neck.

Once it becomes clear that the rain isn't going to let up any time soon, they duck into a nearby building for shelter.

The first unlocked building they stumble across is a corner store; the interior of which appears frozen in time. All of the coolers remain full of sodas, still lit with their fluorescent lights. The shelves are stocked with snacks. Not that money is of much use here.

James presses on the door, frowning when he sees it won't lock. None of the windows appear to be openable—it wouldn’t take much effort to smash them. They’d be far safer back at the apartments. At least there were plenty of places to hide.

“Can we rest here?” Maria asks. “Just for a minute?"

It's as if he's back in Shibuya, with a scattering of survivors, his younger sibling pleading for rest. Fear prickles at the back of his neck, only furthered by his indecisiveness.

“We can't stay too long,” James says. “We’ll be stuck dealing with curses once the sun sets.”

“Better than dealing with other players,” Mallory says flatly. She leans against a chest cooler to peer into it. She must not like what she sees, as she scowls and steps over to the door.

Barring the door proves to be as much of an issue as James first expected: they can't. Moving one of the coolers in front of the door would block their escape. Not to mention, if someone really wanted to, breaking a window would be easy.

From behind the front counter, James grabs a pack of cigarettes.

“What exactly are cursed spirits?” Maria asks. “You keep mentioning them…”

“Well, curses are beings created from negative emotions such as anger and hate.” James says. “Though that's not the only thing that can create them—there’s quite a few different ways they can be made,

“Most humans can't see them. There are exceptions, sure, but typically they’re only visible to sorcerers,

“They’re most active at night,” he continues, “something about the dark draws them out. Generally they keep to themselves, unless provoked in some way. But I’m sure being in this game makes them more aggressive in some way.”

That's not comforting at all, her gaze seems to say. “And you… fight these things?” Maria asks.

"Yes." He says. "Sorcerers and curses have evolved alongside each other since the beginning of time."

Her gaze turns to the door. Rain runs down the glass in streams obscuring the view of the street.

"How does that work?" Maria asks. "Are you trained to do this? Or are you born with this ability?"

"Both. Technically." He says. "The majority of a sorcerer's strength comes from inborn talent, and the rest is learned. Your cursed technique often depends on your bloodline. So I, as the soulmate sorcerer, can not use the six eyes like Gojo can. I wasn't born with the ability to do it."

Maria's eyes narrow. "The soulmate sorcerer?"

“My cursed technique allows me to join people by the string of fate, as well as view the name of the person on each side.” He says. “So… yes; the soulmate sorcerer.”

The presence of another soul is what finally draws him from the conversation. It's neither human, nor sorcerer.

The civilians that Mahito would transfigure would often keep the human parts of their soul. It's not impossible for a curse to have human elements to their soul. Although, however human they may be, there will always be something inherently wrong with them.

“What did you do before this?” Maria asks. “For work, I mean—have you always hunted cursed spirits?”

“In a sense,” he says. “Japan has a monopoly on not only curses, but sorcerers too. It's extremely rare to have a sorcerer born outside of the country, although it’s possible; finding work like this in my home country was tough,

“I was on my own for quite a while—packed up and left my hometown the moment I graduated. Mostly I took odd jobs; security, freelance maintenance, you name it,

“Eventually I found my way here. Wasn't affiliated with either the Tokyo or Kyoto schools, so I continued working freelance. Worked under a guy named Noritoshi Kamo for a while—that turned out to be a mistake.” The laugh that he lets out following this sounds forced.

He was content to navigate through life alone. To live with no strings attached was to live freely. With family involved, leaving town whenever he wanted was impossible. So he kept his head down, and simply worked.

“Sounds lonely…” Maria says.

“People tell me that a lot.” He says. “They make it sound like a life alone is not a life worth living at all. But, I don't know… I don't think being on my own has ever bothered me,

“I guess some people are just meant to be alone. And I don't say that with the intention of being depressing. Maybe it's me, but I think… humanity has moved past the need for the string of fate.”

Maybe Tsumuko was right. Humanity has moved past the need for cursed energy in itself.

He plucks a cigarette from his pack, placing the end between his lips. Part of him wishes he had found something stronger.

“Isn't that stealing?” Maria asks. Her tone sounds more curious than it does accusatory. When James turns to her, confused, she motions to the pack of cigarettes in his hands.

“I don't think anyone is going to care here.” He says.

He senses the rogue soul long before he sees it. A cursed spirit. Standing square in the center of the street. Unmoving.

And it seems agitated.

“Can humans become cursed spirits?” Maria asks.

Sweat has beaded on the palms of his hands. He wipes them off on the front of his pants. “It's possible.” James says. “It's not a common occurrence—the circumstances have to be perfect—but it can happen.”

James peeks out the window between two posters. The curse hobbles over to a building across the street before stopping, and standing on its hind legs to sniff at the air. It's at least as tall as a grown man, and about twice as wide. The pointed ears situated on top of its head twitch.

“You see that?” He asks.

Mallory pries the poster aside to take a look for herself. “It's looking for us.” She says.

“Keep away from the windows," James says, "and keep low. Don't let it see you.”

Maria’s voice trembles slightly as she asks “wha- what is it?”

The posters crinkle as Mallory pulls away. Whether on purpose, or on instinct, her hand finds the pommel of her sword.

“Rain seems to have stopped.” Mallory says. “Why don't you let the kids know we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Is that really such a good idea right now?” Maria asks. “What about that thing on the street?!”

That's the least of your worries, James thinks. "If we keep quiet, it shouldn't notice us."

“And if it does?” She asks.

“Then it's one against two.” He says. “Even if it's on the stronger side, the two of us should be more than equipped to take care of it.”

But tired, and injured, the sorcerers don't find themselves eager to enter another fight.

The fire exit heads straight out into an alley. Puddles of rain slosh underfoot as they round the corner, onto the street. The air is stale with the smell of rain.

If the cursed spirit does notice them, it must quickly lose interest. Keeping close to the side of a building, they're able to sneak by unnoticed.

The stairs to the subway soon come into view. The air of the lower levels is so still, and thick with smoke that it makes it difficult to breathe. Residuals are so thick in the air that it nearly makes James choke.

He feels along the walls blindly, before finding a lightswitch, and flipping it. Harsh fluorescent lights fill the corridor. White tile floors stretch out for what seems to be forever.

They can't be far. Perhaps in his panic, he mistook the layout.

“It's to the left,” Mallory says, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder, “this way.”

His feet are moving before his brain is telling them to. A set of doors comes into view up ahead. If there are any other souls among them, the thick layer of cursed energy obscures them.

“There!” Someone calls. “Up ahead!”

He plants a hand on each door, throwing them open. Only to be met with yellow caution tape, and orange signs. Closed for construction.

The blood seems to freeze in James’ veins. This… isn't it.

Did the exit move? Did he take a wrong turn?

A small voice tugs at the back of his head. The hair on his arms stands on end. Frustration, and perhaps concern, makes itself known in the crease between his eyebrows.

Without thinking, he brings his revolver up to protect himself.

The blade slices through his pinky and ring finger, before stopping at his middle. His weapon is knocked several feet behind him, sliding under a nearby bench. Blood spurts from the wound with each beat of his heart. He clutches his injured hand close to his chest.

"Kei-Sensei, why are they fighting?" One of the students asks. James doesn't recognize the voice, but it's one of the girls.

Another heartbeat passes before the shock wears off and he narrowly scrambles out of the way of another attack.

Mallory’s blade hits the ground hard enough to send up sparks. In the moment it takes her to recover, James charges, slamming his elbow into her sternum, only to be met with the feeling of the air being knocked from his lungs: Mallory has swung her knee right up into his stomach, causing him to retch.

She brings the hilt of her sword down onto the back of his neck. Instantly, James folds. He throws his hands out in a weak attempt to catch himself. It doesn't work. The moment his injured hand touches the ground, he sees white.

When Mallory moves to pin him, he frees his knife from his belt, plunging it into her throat.

If that isn't enough to kill her, the resulting blast of cursed energy is. His first attack was simply instinct. This was on purpose.

Her body crumples.

Mallory’s eyes are half lidded, and fluttering, as if she’s still struggling against her injuries.

His ears ring. The little strength he had in him has been sapped by blood loss. James makes a weak attempt to stand, before falling beside his fellow sorcerer.

Mallory’s eyes fly open. The color returns to her skin slowly. She groans hoarsely, before tugging the knife from her throat. More blood spurts out, thickly coating both of her hands. Grimacing, she wipes her palms off on her pants.

Slowly, the wound on her throat knits closed. A thin, pale scar is left where the gouge once was. Mallory scowls as her thumb wipes at it, leaving a small smear of blood. When her and her fellow sorcerer lock eyes, they both freeze.

One of the students—the boy with the inhaler—collapses. His fellow student moves to catch him, and her hands come away bloody. She shrieks; a horrible noise that echoes through the hall.

One point has been added to: Park, Mallory

“Have you figured it out yet?” She asks. “My cursed technique?”

#jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #blood ties #literally forget how to tag every time i post a new chapter of this lol #jjk #cw blood and injury #cw violence #murder cw #jjk manga spoilers #if you squint

8 notes · View notes

gretavanfleetposts · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! I’d love a ship please <3 I’m Billie, I’m 24 years old, and I use they/them pronouns. I’m a Scorpio, Cancer moon and Pisces rising. I’m a librarian and a freelance writer, plus my undergrad degree is in English and film studies. I loooove to read and I’m passionate about film too!

I have brown wavy hair and green eyes, I would describe my body type as plus size! I do not have a specific fashion sense but I love anything that is patterned with space themes and I love the 70s aesthetic.

My go to musical artists apart from Greta are the Eagles, Pink Floyd, Rush, Yes, and Taylor Swift.

Some hobbies I have are rollerskating, snowboarding, and crochet. I love crafts, I try my best to hand make gifts for the people in my life when I can. I do not have any pets because I still live at home and my family are allergic, but I am a cat person through and through and I also adore dogs, especially big ones!

Just a little bit of extra info about them that helped me make my ship decision: "oh my word, I forgot something I love about myself. This is still Billie lol! I have been told that I am very kind and a ray of sunshine and that I make friends everywhere I go. I find it a bit hard to believe nice things about myself but if these things are true then they’re definitely what I love about myself, haha!"

Hey there!

❤: I love that you're a librarian! I'm so jealous, that's like the dream job right there. You have great music taste; I think any of the Greta boys would agree. You also sound so talented. I've been rollerskating a few times and I am comically bad at it but I love watching other people do it. And personally I think homemade gifts are the absolute best. I'm sure the people around you love knowing that you've put so much time and effort into giving them something they'll love.

Ship: Josh

Because: I think your sunny personality matches Josh's perfectly. You're so sweet and you care about the people around you, you're talented and smart; I think you might be his dream partner. He would love the crafts you'd make for him and would take them with him every time he went on tour. I can see him pulling out something you've made him when he's especially missing you. And he would agree with the people around you that you are a ray of sunshine. You'd be his own personal sun.

Scenario:

Contrary to what most people thought, Josh wasn't always in a good mood

On this particular night, he had come home from rehearsals and the moment he slammed the door, you knew something was wrong

You put down your crocheting to go and search the house for him, finding him in the kitchen pouring himself a shot of tequila and downing it quickly

As he turned to you, you could see the frustration in his eyes and you asked him what was wrong, hoping he would talk to you about it

"I'm going to kill my brothers," he said very matter-of-factly

You actually signed in relief, glad it wasn't anything more serious

Josh and his brothers often made these threats to each other

Honestly it was when the threats stopped and hands were thrown that you really had to be worried

You took his hand and led him the the living room where you had been working on a scarf

He plopped down on the other end of the couch and as your worked, he told you about the most recent fight, about how Jake and Sam wouldn't agree with him on something that he wasn't willing to budge on and absolutely no progress had been made

You listened and gave input where you felt it was needed, and after about an hour had passed, you could tell Josh was in a much better mood

Eventually he turned his attention to you and the task in your hands

"What are you working on?"

You held up your work to show him, a long golden scarf with charcoal gray edges that you planned to add his favorite symbols to

He took it from your hands and admired it intently, careful not to unravel anything

"It's for me?" he asked almost in disbelief

You laughed, of course it was for him

A wide smile grew on his face, the first of the night

He crawled over to where you sat on the couch and planted a kiss on your forehead

"You always know how to cheer me up"

I hope you liked it! Thank you for the request!

-⭐

ships are currently closed

#anon ask #anon ships #ships #gvf ships #gvf #greta van fleet #gretavanfleetpostsships #greta van fleet ships

2 notes · View notes

qwertyfingers · 4 years ago

Text

faith healer, come lay your hands on me

here’s a snippet from the self indulgent traumatism (trauma and autism) fic if anyone wants to read it lol. Sam and Cas love to have have problems in the middle of the night. Gen, 2k words, warning for discussions of food scarcity and calming someone down from a panic attack, nothing graphic though. Set in a nebulous late-seasons time period because I respect canon literally not at all.

It’s the middle of the night, sometime between Dean’s custom of falling asleep on his keyboard and Sam shepherding them both to bed, but before his nightly waking up from a nightmare to wander around the bunker checking the wards. Cas is in the kitchen wiping away mostly-imaginary detritus from the counters when Sam finds him; wild-eyed and looking frayed at the seams. He nods at Cas, but nothing follows it. He just stands there in the centre of the room shaking slightly. His eye sockets look like bruises.

Cas tilts his head and squints, considering, “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam startles in a big way. Huffs breaths in and out of his nose, forehead crinkling with the effort. “What? I. yeah I’m- I’m fine.” He pauses for a few seconds though, hands twisting at the edges of his shirt like they do when he’s worrying. He makes several aborted attempts to keep talking, each less successful than the last. Kicks gently at a table leg and scowls to himself. “It is fine it’s just...” but he doesn’t continue, just starts gesturing with his hands, like he’s run out of words.

Cas turns back to his cleaning, watches Sam filter through all of his most common nervous gestures in the edges of his vision, seemingly not comforted by any of them. He clenches his hands, drags them over his jaw and face, tugs his hair through his fingers roughly. He bounces, frenetic, from foot to foot, socked feet making muffled tapping noises on the hard floor. Says nothing for a long time.

Cas doesn’t sleep much, so he measures his nighttimes in completed tasks rather than minutes and hours. He gets through wiping the surfaces, cleaning out the sink, and setting the dishwasher to its self-clean cycle, before he hears anything from Sam.

When he does finally speak, the words seem to burst out of him all at once, quiet but tense and all in a rush — pressured speech it was called, in the books Cas had been reading. He figured at least one person in the bunker should know about trauma’s effects, and twelve years’ experience had taught him it wouldn’t be the Winchesters.

“You know, when Dean and me were kids we- we didn’t always have a lot to eat. A lot of the time we didn’t have enough to eat. And Dean would… Dean would always feed me first.” He stops and takes a heaving breath, then three, hands clenching and unclenching arhythmically in front of him. They’re hovering just above the kitchen counter without touching, arms held awkwardly aloft like he doesn’t know where to put them. He’s curled forward, and down, head and shoulders hunched in. He looks pained.

The instinct to make oneself small learned from a childhood desperately trying to hide from the reality of his own life. Cas has long since chased away the instinct to get angry about their life before he knew them, but he never stops feeling the sadness of it. There is a deep well of agony that will never be truly told.

“The portions were already so small and he’d- he’d do this thing where he’d, like, eat half his meal and pretend to be full so he could pass the rest on to me. Never took no for an answer. And of course at first I was too young to notice what he was really doing, but then I was twelve, thirteen, and he’d still feed me like I was-” Sam winces, coughs out a small laugh, grimaces, drags his left hand over his face. “God, like I was his son. His ‘baby boy’ he used to say. And he was so thin for so long and-” Sam stops himself here, looking winded. He taps the fridge door sixteen times with his right hand as he bites at his left thumbnail.

“And obviously we were both fine in the end, Dean’s big and he’s tough but. Sometimes I get this-” he interrupts himself to tug his hands through his hair, sharp, “god it sounds so stupid but I get this thought that. That if Dean hadn’t had to feed me he’d be as tall as I am now and I get all. Normally it’s fine and I just laugh it off because it’s so ridiculous it is a ridiculous thought.” There’s a wet catch in Sam’s throat, and he’s looking at Cas like he can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or cry.

Cas nods slowly, feeling sombre. “Dean is six feet and three quarter inches tall. He is hardly a small man, Sam.” He tries a small smile, to be encouraging, in-on-the-joke but not poking fun, but he can still never tell if he’s hitting the mark or not. A face has so many muscles, and only so much conscious control over them.

Sam surprises him by laughing and crying at the same time. “He’s six feet tall, and he’s one of the strongest humans I’ve ever met — despite being completely allergic to the concept of exercise and I hate him,” he rants, a hint of panic tingeing his voice purple, “so fucking much, and I’m so tired of his bullshit, and yet sometimes I startle awake at night in a panic convinced that I deprived him of his “true height” by having the audacity to be hungry.” The air quotes are a little twitchy, but the attempt to be funny is probably a good sign. Hopefully. Sam’s less prone to sarcasm as a cover for soul-crushing misery than his brother.

Sam starts rearranging the sauce bottles scattered by the stove, hands jerky with the motion. Cas notes in the back of his mind to put them back in place once Sam calms down — Dean needs the kitchen just so. He’s been prone to his own late night trips down memory lane, lately, and he doesn’t need the added stress of obsessive compulsive cleaning on top of it all.

“I told you it was stupid, Cas,” he splutters, and he’s fully crying now, teetering on the edge of hysterical. “Christ, I feel like such an infant.”

Done with the cleaning, Cas folds his cloth into a neat rectangle, hangs it carefully through the loop of the oven door handle as he passes by. He picks up a clean cloth from the pile in the cupboard below the sink too. He heads towards Sam, movements slow and careful to give him a chance to back away — Sam’s liable to startle like a rabbit even on his best days. Cas has been trying his hardest not to trigger it; the ‘fight/flight/freeze instinct’ as he’d learned. It’s helped him understand a lot of Sam and Dean’s reaction better. He only wishes he’d known about it sooner.

He presses his hand gently to the outside of Sam’s elbow, looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze steady. “It’s not foolish, Sam. But surely, your childhood was full of enough tragedy, that you needn’t add to it.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy and ragged, and his eyes are darting between Cas, and the walls, and the condiments he’s still twitching across the counter. He stops, breathes deep, tugs his long sleeves down over his hands and dabs at his wet face. He huffs a laugh between bouts of sobs, mutters something that sounds like “Yeah, yeah, doesn’t help me stop thinking it though,” but Cas can’t be entirely sure, because Sam’s speaking into his shirt cuffs with hands clamped tight over his mouth.

Cas moves his hand slowly from Sam’s elbow to his shoulder, leans in slow to bring his other arm around Sam’s back and hold him loose to his chest. Sam gasps loudly and sobs, wet, shoves his face into the front of Cas’ shoulder indelicately as he responds with his own arms. He clutches at the back of Cas’ coat and weeps, done with trying to hold it all in. He’s shaking less now, but it’s impossible to know whether it’s progress or if he’s turning further inward without seeing his face.

Cas pulls him closer and moves the hand on his back upwards, rubs it in slow, careful circles across his shoulder blades. Pressure is good, he’d read, especially with flashbacks. Pressure grounds you in the present; a small, physical beacon of something that’s unquestionably real. He’s not sure if Sam notices or appreciates it, but he’s not going to ask; doesn’t want to run the risk of making their home feel clinical.

It seems like the kind of crying where speaking wouldn’t help, so he lets it run its course. He keeps up the pressure at Sam’s back, and takes his palm to pet at Sam’s hair, something he’d seen Dean do so many times. Sam seems to jump at first, coughing once into Cas’ sodden shirt, but doesn’t move or ask him to stop, so after a long moment of awkwardly holding his hand still on top of his head he strokes his fingers out, and Sam sighs on the end of a gurgle.

Cas hears words now and then, ‘stupid’s and ‘christ’s and once, bafflingly, ‘fucking lucky charms’, but for the most part Sam seems content to simply cry until he stops. It’s not a quick thing. The air stills around them as Sam calms, gentled down from wracking gasps to sniffling tears, to simple heavy breaths.

Extricating himself is a clumsy affair even for Sam. His arms seem to catch, held in that clutching shape by the tension of the moment, and he has to slowly roll all of his joints loose. He unfurls slowly, like a flower in sunlight, until he stands back at full height. He does look brighter, now, and he carries the crackle of something almost like grace in him, Cas thinks. Peace always shines out of a person.

He grasps Cas’ upper arm for a moment, takes the offered cloth to dry his face before handing it back to Cas and gesturing at the front of his shirt. From the wry, wrinkled-nose smile he throws him as he steps away, Cas thinks he’s also realised the shirt is already a lost cause, but Cas pats himself down anyway, something to occupy his hands for a moment.

Sam leans back briefly to rest against the counter, then gets a different idea and twists around toward the cupboards. He takes out three cups, some chamomile tea, fills the kettle up to the line drawn on the side in red sharpie. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispers with his head in a cupboard, ears tinting red. “I - heh - think I needed that.” He huffs a laugh again, some genuine mirth in it now. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s quite alright. How are you feeling?” Cas can feel himself gazing a little too intensely, watching for Sam’s reactions, but he’s not worried. They know eachother well enough now that Cas can predict what would happen if it got too much; Sam would tell him knock it out, would you, would punch him lightly on the upper arm. He’d most likely try to crack a joke that would land flat, because Sam and Cas have never understood eachother’s humour very well, even when Sam isn’t sleep deprived and beginning to fade at the edges. Cas would apologise and start cleaning again just to keep out of his way. Out of his hair, as Dean would say. These are familiar dances.

Cas also knows he’s not likely to do it though, that Sam is used to his staring. And then he’s blindsided by another thought — that Sam is used to him. His presence and his quirks and his whims. Cas feels himself smile at that, warm, knowing that it’s true. They’re standing in the kitchen, in their home, and Sam just got snot all over his shirt — the shirt he’ll have to wash, manually, and iron, because he’s not really an angel anymore, doesn’t have the grace to maintain his signature look without effort anymore. The shirt that he’ll still choose to put on each morning when he could choose something simpler — because he trusts Cas enough to subject him to his 3am childhood trauma meltdowns. Cas is a human, with inexorably fallible human hands, and Sam is willing to hand him his heart in the quiet hours of the morning for a little field surgery. Cas almost thinks he feels a little sick.

#spn fic #mine #spn #cptsd manifesto #blank tag to keep out of searches #sam winchester #castiel

29 notes · View notes

tofuwhale · 4 years ago

Text

The Genshin Impact Boys as a Kpop group Headcanons [Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Zhongli]

Me and Tofu started thinking of these after seeing this tiktok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSsftVnW/

Enjoy!! These were so much fun to make lol

- 🐋

Kpop group name: T3YVAT

Their roles in the boy band

Kaeya

VISUAL, 100%, but is also the rapper of the group, 2nd oldest member

Everyone’s blown away and gets flustered from his suave and flirty mannerisms

Does a lot of modelling on the side just for fun & fanservice

Diluc

THE VOCALIST, vocals for daysss, 2nd youngest member

He has such a sweet and charming voice, it’s shy at the same time and sounds like dripping honey

Could sing baby lullabies

Zhongli

THE LEADER, kind of cold in a weird way, oldest member

no one really knows why he’s the leader since (??) he seems kind of lazy at first (but actually works really hard behind the scenes, writes the groups’ songs)

Childe

GOLDEN MAKNAE for sure, kinda a spoiled brat and is good at stuff without even trying, youngest member

Really good at dance, would almost be the dancer except for the fact he’s good at everything

Brags a lot about the things he can do, kinda gets on the other members’ nerves sometimes

Does aegyo and the members have to hold themselves back from choking him to death

Xiao

He’s a soloist, experiments with a lot of genres like soft ballads, rap, and pop

Collaborates with T3YVAT in a couple songs

What instrument they would play

Kaeya

Massive drummer boy vibes, has done the drums in the background track of a couple of their songs but no one knows about it

Diluc

The recorder. Jk1!!!1

Honestly he wouldn’t rely much on instruments, his voice alone is enough for him

(It’s also because he’s broken almost every instrument he’s touched)

Zhongli

He’s a classical type of boy so he’d most likely play piano

Has been playing it since he was a kid, a prodigy but decided to form a kpop group instead (who knows why)

Makes grown adults cry with the way he can play piano

Them fingers tho 👀

Childe

He can play a little bit of guitar, but not that much

He’s still learning but the group’s schedule makes it hard for him to

When he has the free time though, he goes live while learning guitar

Xiao

Xiao plays like every instrument, being a soloist he’s really talented and makes all of his music of course

Music is his passion!!

What they’re like during a fansign event

Kaeya

Ofc flirty but man has to tone it down, maybe caresses your cheek though if you’re lucky

He’d be really sweet honestly speaking, he’d probably ask if you ate or if you’re enjoying the fanmeet

Ask him anything and he’ll be honest,, maybe too honest tho LOL

Diluc

He would be so polite and nice, would thank you honestly for coming to the fansign

Flattered by your compliments, gives you a cute little smile at the end that you’ll think about for weeks

Although Diluc doesn’t really like socializing all that much he makes sure it’s clear that he appreciates his fans!!

Zhongli

He would be very much reserved

He as well would ask stuff like how you’re finding the fanmeet

Omg if you have any concerns or anything he’d 100% would listen.

Good listener 100/10 perhaps gives his own advice if needed

He’d deny you for accessories but trust me once you leave he’d look at them before wearing them thinking no one’s watching

Fansites definitely took videos or photos of this moment. YOU AIN’T SLICK

Childe

SOFTEST BABY I WILL CRY.

He’d probably be the most ecstatic compared to the others

If it’s your turn to talk to him he’d immediately grab your hand and wave it around while saying things like “Thank you so much for coming!” “Thanks for supporting us, it means a lot!”

Gets the most gifts and appreciates all of them, has like 50 cat and bunny ear headbands on and refuses to take them off

What they’re like when they go live, and How often they go live

Kaeya

Flirty. Pretty obvious sTILL. He’d wink many times and just say pick up lines

He mainly just wants to have fun and talk with the fans

Gets cockblocked by Childe overhearing his pick up lines and Childe gags loud enough for the live to hear

Kaeya exits the frame saying he’ll be back and all you hear is Childe screaming

Diluc

Went live once accidentally, never again

Spent 5 minutes trying to figure out how to turn off the live

Zhongli

Zhongli rarely goes live, but when he does it’s to show the fans a new song he’s been writing or to get inspiration

Plays the piano while live, has all the fans crying from how beautiful it is

Childe

Goes live the most often, for really dumb stuff but everyone joins anyways

For example, he’d go live to ask for directions to a fried chicken place and immediately end the live

Or he’d go live just to show him bothering Diluc and trying to wake him up from a nap and after, Diluc nearly chases Childe down to kill him

LOVES to interrupt the others’ lives, mainly Kaeya and Zhongli

Ever seen that one video of VIXX’s Hyuk getting left behind in a gas station? Yeah that’s Childe.

How often they post selcas

Kaeya

He posts the most out of everyone

Sexy azz selfies 😩

His captions are pick up lines or could be interactive like he’d ask a question for the fans to answer

Diluc

Rarely posts them, but when he does he poses like a middle-aged white dad taking a selfie

Boring but hilarious captions like “Took a shower.”

Zhongli

Never has posted a selca, refuses to and their manager can’t do anything about it

Because of this, there’s an inside joke in the fandom that Zhongli isn’t even a part of the group and he actually doesn’t exist

Zhongli stans stay strong!!!1!

Childe

Posts selcas often for fanservice, they’re all cutesy with animal filters like bunny or cat ears

Will sometimes post a selfie with the other members without their permission (like sneaking in a blurry selfie with Diluc)

Who’s most likely to take off their shirt during a concert

Kaeya, he’s allergic to shirts

Childe

Diluc/Zhongli, the thing is it wasnt them. childe and kaeya prolly lifted their shirts up LOL

Who’s most likely to accidentally make a fan cry

Diluc

Who’s most likely to hook up with one of their fans

KAEYA, when an interviewer asks him this question he just laughs and looks at the ground while smirking, and then looks at the camera and says “I would never”

Zhongli but no one would find out or expect him to, the only way anyone would know is if he’s the one who tells everyone

Diluc/Childe, they aren’t into that stuff

Who’s most likely to go live while drunk

Kaeya for sure, he’d start a live with his hair untied and messy, half empty bottle of wine next to him and his shirt unbuttoned all sexy and he’d be like ‘Sorry for my appearance haha’, and he’d be extraaa flirty

Who’s most likely to accidentally reveal the groups’ location/address

Diluc, probably accidentally posts a google map that shows the directions to the group’s house/apartment

Childe

Kaeya

Zhongli

Who’s fancam is most likely to go viral on twitter

Zhongli, but only because his manager told him to ‘put more effort in’ so he did, and now the Zhongli stans went crazy and made his name go trending

Who gets shipped

Kaeya and Diluc (But they aren’t brothers in this AU LOL) instead, their beef is from an unfinished chess match that everyone in the fandom knows about

Childe and Zhongli, could be because of their dynamic since Childe is loud and Zhongli is quiet and also because it was revealed that Childe often wants to room with Zhongli (much to his dismay, Childe is actually roomates with Kaeya)

#genshin impact #genshinimpact #fanfic #genshin kaeya #genshin diluc #genshin zhongli #genshin childe #kaeya #diluc #zhongli #childe #tartaglia #headcanons #kpop

50 notes · View notes

nblesbianbenhanscom · 4 years ago

Note

2 + reddie?

“You love me like I deserve you.”

Thank you for the prompt! I’m sorry it took so long, but uh... it’s a whole ass fic! Lol.

Weep Little Lion Man-- on ao3

***

Eddie stumbles into his apartment, totally exhausted. All he wants to do is fall onto the couch and sleep for 27 years, but he can’t. Richie is staying with him and he’s going to want food.

“That you, spaghetti?” Richie calls. Eddie doesn’t even have enough energy to be annoyed at the stupid nickname.

“No, it’s the Zodiac killer, come to eat your guts,” Eddie calls back. Richie comes out of the bedroom and pulls Eddie into a hug.

“The Zodiac killer wasn’t a cannibal. You’re thinking of Hannibal Lecter,” Richie says. Eddie bites at Richie’s pec, and Richie winces, laughing. “How was your day, my love?”

“Ughhhhhhh!” Eddie groans. Richie kisses his hair.

“That good, huh?”

“I can’t wait for the divorce to be over,” Eddie says. “I want to live in LA and be with you all the time already.” They are in New York in a small ass apartment that Eddie is renting month to month. Richie is there for a few weeks having just gotten off tour.

“Soon, babes, soon.”

“Myra is such a bitch,” Eddie mumbles.

“I know, love, I know.”

“I just hate how she’s insisting on dragging this out,” Eddie mumbles. At first he’d offered to give her whatever she wanted, ready to move on. Myra had gotten mad, saying he would tell all their friends she’d taken advantage of him. Eddie offered to give her what she came with, and a small alimony check, but it wasn’t enough. Splitting everything was too much. It felt like nothing would be good enough, and Eddie is about 3 seconds away from dropping everything and just running.

“The meeting went that well?” Richie asks.

“Sorry, Rich, I’m just tired. Let me go take a shower and we can go grocery shopping.” He kisses Richie’s cheek and starts to pull away.

“Why don’t you just take your time in the shower? I can go,” Richie offers and Eddie bristles.

“No. I’ll be quick.”

“Eds, you had a long day. I don’t mind,” Richie says softly.

“I said, ‘no.’” Eddie snaps. “I’ll be quick.”

“Are you sure? Cause I don’t mind. Really.”

“Beep beep, mother fucker. I’m perfectly capable of doing my own grocery shopping!” Eddie yells. “I’m not some pathetic baby! I am a grown ass adult. I know I’m a fucking mess right now, but it’s not like I can’t fucking grocery shop!” Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know why he’s so angry.

“Whoa, Eds!” Richie takes a step back holding his hands up in the air.

“My name is Eddie! What the fuck dude! You know how much I hate it when you call me Eds. It’s such a child’s name, and I am not a child!” He’s nearly screaming now. “And let’s say I do let you go grocery shopping? Do you even fucking know what brands I like? What foods I can eat? Do you know what I’m allergic to? Do you?”

Richie doesn’t say anything, just lets Eddie rant.

“Are you going to say something, Richie? I asked you a question. You never fucking shut up, and now I ask you a question and you can’t fucking say anything?”

Richie licks his lips. He’s about to say something, but Eddie doesn’t want to hear it so he just pushes past the taller man.

“You don’t have to coddle me, Richie! I’m capable of doing my own errands!” Eddie leaves Richie by the door and goes to take a shower. His hands shake as he undresses. He gets frustrated with the buttons on his shirt, and one of them pops off. When he’s naked, he leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor and jumps in the shower.

He takes his time, washing his hair and body vigorously, his mind racing. What the fuck is wrong with him? Richie was just trying to be nice because he loves Eddie and knows how completely overwhelmed Eddie is. Eddie know Richie is nothing like Myra or his mother, but Eddie can do his own fucking grocery shopping.

When he gets out, he’s still angry, but he feels mostly in control until he sees Richie on the couch watching TV. He’s still wearing his sweats and a sleep shirt.

“Are we going grocery shopping or what?” Eddie snaps and Richie jumps.

“What the fuck Eddie!” Richie says. “I thought you wanted to go alone.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eddie says. “When did I say that? What could have possibly lead you to the conclusion that I wanted to go alone?”

“Um, maybe because you keep yelling at me when I’m just trying to be nice?” Richie says.

“Fuck you!” Eddie yells. “I don’t need you to be nice to me. I’m perfectly fine!”

“Clearly,” Richie says. Eddie rubs his face.

“Just fucking get dressed.”

“If you yell at me in public, we will end up in the tabloids.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Doesn’t that just give you fodder for your failing comedy career?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Eddie’s whole body flushes. He feels like garbage. He and Richie tease a lot, but this doesn’t feel like teasing, and he hates himself for it.

“Eddie, stop,” Richie says softly. “Just talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re screaming at me,” Richie says.

“I’m fine, Richie! I just need you to get dressed! I’m tired and hungry.”

“Why don’t we just order something?” Richie asks.

“Because, Richie! I like cooking! And I want to cook you a fucking nice meal. But I need to go to the fucking store.”

“So go!” Richie says. “I’m not stopping you!”

“Fine!” Eddie goes to the door and starts to put on his shoes, but his hands won’t stop shaking. Tears fill his eyes and he slumps into the door.

“Eddie!” Richie says. He gets up and kneels next to Eddie, hesitating.

“Richie-” Eddie gropes for Richie’s shirt and pulls him close. “Oh, God, Richie. I’m so fucking sorry.” Richie pulls Eddie close, stroking his back.

“It’s ok, Eddie, you’re ok,” Richie whispers. Eddie just cries. He cries and he cries and he cries and he cries.

He cries until he feels empty and then he just lays limply in Richie’s arms while Richie kisses his hair.

“You’re ok, my love,” Richie says. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry, Richie. I- I don’t know where all that came from.” Eddie sits up and wipes his face with his shirt.

“You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“But that doesn’t make it right to treat you like shit,” Eddie says.

“I know you didn’t mean it, Eds-dee. Eddie.”

Laughing softly, “It’s ok. You can call me Eds. I don’t mind. Not really.”

“I just didn’t want to upset you again.”

Taking a deep breath, Eddie leans against the door. “I- I think I got upset because I actually like shopping. It was one of the few times I got to be alone when I was married and-” He takes another deep breath. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s ok, really,” Richie says so gently, so softly. Eddie’s eyes fill up with tears again.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Richie asks.

“Be nice. Act like I deserve it.”

“But you do deserve it,” Richie says. He scoots a little closer to Eddie but doesn’t touch him.

“I don’t.”

“You do. I love you, and you deserve to be treated nicely.”

“Even when I’m a little asshole?”

“Especially when you’re a little asshole,” Richie says, and Eddie leans into his shoulder. They fall silent. Eddie is still hungry, but now he’s more tired than anything, and he’s wondering if Richie will still order them food.

“How do you do it?” Eddie asks eventually.

“Do what?”

“Love me. You love me like I deserve you,” Eddie says. His throat is tight with emotions, he can barely get the words out.

Richie tugs Eddie into his lap and grabs Eddie’s face in his hands. For the first time that night he looks angry. Really angry.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” Richie growls, and Eddie’s eyes go wide. “You do deserve me. You are such an amazing person, and I love you so fucking much. I- What-” He stops and closes his eyes. He’s trying to get himself under control. “Your mother and your wife-” He stops again, biting back tears.

“Richie-”

Opening his eyes, Richie says, “You deserve everything you could ever want in the world, Eddie. Everything. You are so amazing, and sweet, and loving, and funny, and real. Yeah, sometimes you’re an asshole, but that’s ok. We all have our moments. If you need to let off some steam, that’s ok. You’re allowed to be angry and hurt.” He pauses. “There’s still so much that we don’t know about each other, and it’s hard to know what’s going to set one of us off. Today I set you off. Tomorrow you’ll probably set me off. So long as we talk about it, it’s going to be ok.”

He pulls Eddie close, and kisses him so, so gently. He kisses him like Eddie’s worth Richie’s whole attention, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing, even when Eddie has spent the better part of the last hour screaming at him about nothing. It’s too much for Eddie, and when they break apart, he’s crying again, but so is Richie.

Neither of them say anything for several minutes. They just sit on the floor in front of Eddie’s door, foreheads pressed together as they hold each other and cry.

Eddie can’t believe this is happening. If this had happened with Myra, he would have left for the store and when he got home, they would have fought some more. Eddie might have cried, but he would have done it alone, in the bathroom or on the couch after Myra had gone to bed. When it got late enough, he would have curled up in bed next to Myra and try to make himself as small as possible, wanting to make sure Myra couldn’t touch him without making an effort.

But with Richie. Richie is right there. He’s holding Eddie, talking him through it, telling him it’s ok. And Eddie believes him. He really does. He knows everything’s going to be ok. It is just a bad night, but Richie still wants him close. Not like Myra would have, not in a way that he wants to control Eddie’s emotions. Richie wants Eddie close so he can help Eddie through whatever lies his brain is telling him, to make sure he knows he’s loved and supported.

After a bit, Eddie kisses Richie again, and they get up slowly. Richie orders them take out, and they spend the evening curled up on the couch, just holding hands and watching something stupid on TV. When they go to bed, Eddie curls up into Richie’s arms, and falls asleep on Richie’s chest. They sleep the whole night through.

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #eddie has a bad night and lashes out #he's learning to communicate though #sorry this took so long #i hope you like ti #it #it chapter 2 #it ch 2 #mah boys #Anonymous

82 notes · View notes

rauvlyna · 4 years ago

Text

Yang Jeongin (I.N) - Orchideous

pairing: I.N x Reader (gender neutral)

theme: fluff, platonic relationship

warnings: unedited lol and possibly cringy, just a bit

a/n: i wrote this 2 years ago alongside the Felix oneshot and initially posted it in wp but i took down the imagines book coz i struggle with writing. posting this now in a new tumblr blog because why not? i don’t wanna regret the chance i didn’t take, at least not anymore. hope you like it 💕

February 14

Valentine’s Day, for others, is when you send flowers to your significant other to express your love and affection towards them.

Valentine’s Day, for me, is when I avoid everyone with bouquets of flower on their hands. Not because I'm another one of those people who hate the concept of love, but rather because of my allergy.

Normally I skip school on this day but since our Social Studies teacher decided to give us a long test, I don't have a choice. The last time I went to school on February 14 was when I was still obsessed with this guy from 8th grade. I still remember arriving home that day with a very runny nose and itchy skin. I got scolded endlessly by my mom and since then I just stayed home the same day of every year. And the next day I found out he already had a girlfriend so my efforts were pretty much useless.

Arriving at school I immediately realized that I was a little too early with half an hour to make use of my time before school starts. I then started to walk along the empty corridors to make way towards my locker. When I got there I saw that I wasn't the only one who was too early for school. There was a guy standing in front of my already opened locker.

Wait, I think I recognize that hair. Is it...

"Hey! Jeongin!?"

The guy flinched and bumped his head on my locker door, letting go of whatever he was holding in the process. I spurted out chuckling.

"Ow, what did you do that for?"

"Sorry, are you okay?". I said while clutching my stomach from laughing so hard.

"That really hurt Y/N."

I stopped laughing thinking he could have gotten seriously hurt.

"Sorry about that. Anyways, what are you doing with my locker?"

"I-I-uh. I was just putting something. It was supposed to be a surprise, but since you busted me already, here."

He handed me a bouquet of paper flowers.

"Whoa. It looks so awesome. Did you make this yourself?"

I delicately touched every paper flower, it looked so pretty and cool at the same time.

“Well, I asked Felix hyung for help since he's artistic and all. Did you like it? I knew that you're allergic to real flowers so I thought that I'd just make paper flowers.”

“Thank you so much, I'm not exactly fond of receiving anything on Valentine’s Day. Except for when my Dad bakes a cake for me and my mom. I didn't really expect you to give me this, to be honest.'

While holding the bouquet I noticed a note tucked in between the flowers.

“What's this?”

I read the note and it said,

Orchideous

To my best friend Y/N

Happy Valentine’s Day

Love, Jeongin

I looked up to Jeongin with his eyebrows raised in a hopeful manner and snickered.

“You're such a sucker for Harry Potter. But, that's one of the reasons you're my best friend. You're a Potterhead like me.'

Smiling he said, “I'm glad you liked it, it's just something to show how thankful I am to you for always being there for me.”

“Don't worry about it, what are friends for anyway? So are you up for later?”

“Why?’

“Did you forget? I promised to treat you to that Harry Potter themed ice cream shop yesterday, didn't I?”

"Oh yeah, I remember. I can't wait, I've been wanting to go there since forever.”

He smiled which caused his braces to show. How cute.

“What a nerd.”

He shoved me playfully and I smiled at him innocently.

I suddenly remembered something else.

“Wait...Jeongin, how did you know my locker combination?”

"Well-uh. Gotta blast."

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #stray kids soft hours #yang jeongin #yang jeongin fluff #stray kids yang jeongin #stray kids i.n #i.n #yang jeongin imagines #yang jeongin oneshot #stray kids x reader #stray kids x gender neutral reader #yang jeongin x gender neutral reader

15 notes · View notes

rataltouille · 5 years ago

Text

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 1

this has been long overdue. typical, really. [novel intro found here.]

the story is currently eight chapters in but it's also a very strange eight chapters. i’m not really happy with half of these words because they're unnecessary ™ and dull ™ and serve no purpose whatsoever ™. i’m simply choosing to ignore that i need to cut them out. :’] here’s a note i made that perfectly captures my feelings so far:

before we go into the excerpts, i want to talk a bit about how house plants is structured because the format is whack. each chapter ranges from 3000-4000 words. A few vignettes, around 500 words, are sprinkled between these chapters. the chapters narrate events from the fictive past, while the vignettes are snippets into the fictive present [the point from where lilith is retelling the story]. additionally, an important plot thread is told entirely in the form of an epistolary [through letters] and so there's a bit more of confusion to navigate through. fun times.

and now for the excerpts. they're from the first three chapters and are very weird out of context. i think that each update will feature excerpts from three consequent chapters, but that may change as we get closer to spoiler land.

excerpts:

chapter one

the novel kicks off with an odd vignette featuring an unhinged willow and an innocent lilith. chronologically, this is set way back, the earliest scene ever, around when lilith was ten or eleven. it’s meant to establish a sense of unease and to thread the unsettling undertone i’m going for. it's also major foreshadowing but we don't talk about that here. i’m not giving away much because there's not many excerpts to scrape out from a dialogue-heavy vignette like this.

”Here, let me help, mother.”

I tried guiding your palms to the rim of the pot, but you moved them away. From the brief touch, my fingers came away with moisture. On second glance, your knuckles were bathed in sweat. Your veins pulsed and your hands shivered. You gave me a wide-eyed glance, dumped the plant atop the brown, and stood up. You wiped the dirt away on your jeans. From below, with sunlight teetering over your golden hair, you were a personification of God. But were you, really? Does God fear their children? Does God volunteer to garden? I didn't know what God truly meant. I don't now either. But I’m certain it wasn't you.

”Sorry, Lilith. My pollen allergy is acting up.”

It's stunning how it ran in our blood, lying effortlessly.

chapter two

immediately after this we’re pulled off into the linear non-vignette chapter thing, aka the second chapter. [god what am i doing with this structure]. it starts with a soft little reminiscent bit about juniper?? i’m exploiting the tense a lot but it's been fun. (:

The first time she smiled at me is knit into me, like I’m not myself without it. I’m not. She breathed change and I ran with it. Whenever she gazed at me, with sunset dripping behind her head, or with rain clouds dotting her hairline, she’d smile. It was the sound of a ukulele in a winter draft, the kiss of dew on my favourite hemlock, the fond mythical curl of my father’s arms around me. There’s a phantom of love everywhere, and I almost caught it sneaking around her. Even now, Juniper dozes so soundly; she’s replaced everything I wanted you to be and everything you never were. You’d know, of course. You always have.

willow is officially introduced soon after, and so is one of the major plot threads, i.e. lilith’s correspondence with her dad. this excerpt is to show how the family feel about each other became, like i mentioned, there’s a lot of tea to be split here. not gonna lie, this paragraph reads as kinds pure.

You— the town called you Wistful Willow, but they did so behind your back and on postcards to neighbours— had a special lilt in your tone every time you spoke his name. ”Isac,” your lips would curl, almost a smile, and I’d smile back. You loved it, the sound of his name. It had become a ritual for us, pouring our sorrow and joy and unrest and comfort into those two syllables. A fallback plan, I suppose; there was always father to rely on amidst chaos.

willow is constantly at home and she’s probably not seen the outside world in a million years. she either cooks, reads, sits in a bathtub, or does everything at the same time. not odd at all.

The bathroom door, thick oak painted ivory, was right across where I stood. The house was large and empty, and I had three places— study, bedroom, garden— to myself. I lived only with you, so it was mostly quiet, except on Saturdays when we got father’s mail and watched TV together. That Saturday we had seen an old movie from the 70s, a random romance that neither of us cared for, but watched out of duty.

The door was shut. From it came the sound of pages rustling, not unlike a delicate breeze playing with the fronds of croton plants. I knocked softly.

”Come in, ” you said, a splash of water punctuating your voice.

I entered to find you half-immersed in the bathtub, one hand holding a novel, the other limp across the rim. There lingered the scent of soapy water, rose-tinted, and all over the tiled walls was the water’s reflection, a glow of opulence. You were half-naked, your garments drifting like algae. Your habit of reading in the bathtub had been increasing lately. You looked at me, questioning.

there’s also the introduction of lilith’s best friends marcy and faun, where they lay down in the middle of a field after a tiring cricket match and banter all through the evening. i’m really enjoying the trio’s friendship; it's both fun to write and they’re just so pure.

”If you insult Henry one more time, Marce...”

”He actually named the butterfly.” Her eyes were wide and amused; she dug up mud with her nails and flicked it upwards, glanced at me. ”Lilith. He named his fucking butterfly.”

”Faun, it's dead. You keep it in a box, ” I said.

”The dead don't magically lose their names, ” he countered.

Our laughter drafted into town. I don't think it heard.

chapter three

this is kind of uneventful but it sets up some major subplots. i might push it to later in the book, but i’m happy with where it it's right now. lilith randomly keeps reminiscing throughout so that’s convenient. this excerpt is about willow and thus is unreliable as hell. willow ain't good and lilith ain't 100% sincere narrating this right now, so don't let its pureness fool you.

People in town, I’d hear, found you odd and unsociable, cold and distant. I always scoffed when they told me so. They only knew the Willow who never attended community gatherings, who’d gaze out absentmindedly from the porch, who’d more so see than observe, hear than listen. They didn't know the Willow who was my mother, who hated loud noises, who loved her novels with a passion, who spoke so serenely— and rarely— that you hung onto her every word. Only I saw this side of you, and that suited me just fine.

there’s a scene where lilith [accidentally] spies on marcy and another guy. their conversation makes lilith tangent off in her head.

Marcy spoke detachedly, like she was speaking through a filter of not caring. I worried for her and her charade. It didn't help that scented letters confessing love often found their way to her locker, or that roses were shoved in her face as if her admirers loved her so much that they forgot she was allergic to them. Idolisation and adoration took extreme forms; she was stalked for a month and sent death threats. She would put on a disguise of indifference and seem unbothered, but at night she’d soak her pillow and lose sleep, then inform us the next day about her insomnia so casually that we almost forgot how easily she hurt.

i’m not going to lie, the last line in this excerpt was just me indulging myself with the knowledge of the climax. i need to stop slipping in random tone changes like this lol.

My walk home finished quick, though my feet expressed exhaustion. I was right on time, too; you were sitting by your coffee table, glasses crooked upon your nose, a new novel— this one a bright red sky, gold print, gauzy— resting beside warm coffee. You barely smiled, but that was because you were daydreaming. I was familiar with every tell: your eyes would tilt towards my forehead, your lips would stretch, your fingers would drum on whatever you were holding. I’d always let you be when you drowned into your head. Did you ever notice that, Mother? Have you ventured out of your mind to witness my efforts?

and finally some food for thought. yes, that pun was intended. i’ll see myself out.

”Dinner’s ready, dear,” you called. I groaned out my fatigue and left my room, hoping to abandon my unflattering thoughts. In the kitchen, I helped you set the table. Soon we were both sipping hot carrot soup with a side of breadsticks. You were already invested in the novel. I held the spoon, the heat barely registering, and watched you drift through fiction and reality like a will o’ the wisp. Maybe I could read for escapism, too. It would do me good.

that’s all for today! thanks for reading so far; support is, as always, appreciated. hope you liked these excerpts ✨

#house plants #writeblr #am writing #spare some love please i can’t believe the amount of time i spent on this post 😔🙏#house plants update

76 notes · View notes