#my throat feels weird and my head hurts from trying to get my point across | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lesservillain · 10 months ago

Text

— i. did you get what you deserve?

summary: the beginning.

cw: season 4 canon divergent, grumpy eddie, medical talks

an: this is a wayne heavy chapter, but i doubt anyone will complain.

Ringing. A very loud ringing. That’s all Eddie can hear.

Something’s pushing on his chest.

The ringing gets louder, until it peaks and starts to fade. Muffled voices all around him, and he can feel his body shifting.

Then it shifts a lot. Ouch, that hurts.

Everything is dark. Or maybe his eyes are closed?

His eyes flutter a bit, but everything is blurry.

There’s some yelling, but it’s too garbled in his ears to make out what’s being said.

It was dark one moment, then suddenly very bright. Like a flash directly in his eye. And then again.

Everything hurts, he notices suddenly. But only because he feels it all slipping away. His body starts to float, suspended in black with a light just above him. Instinctively he swims towards it. It feels like warm sun rays on his cold, cold body.

When he hits the surface, everything starts to hurt again. His eyes open to a dimly lit room. Every part of his body feels heavy. Even moving his head is a challenge. There’s something next to him though, a presence that he can see out of his peripherals. He tries to call out, but there’s something in his mouth, his throat, obstructing his ability to talk. With all he can muster, he lets out a groan through his nose. Whatever is next to him shifts, moving quickly with a screech.

“Ed? Ed, you awake son?!”

“I can help who’s next!”

Feet shuffling beneath you, you clutch your handbag close as you move through the bodies of your classmates. A handsome man about your age with a million dollar smile sits on the other side of the table. He looks at you expectantly as you take the hint, fumbling in your bag for your student ID.

“Sorry,” you mumble as he gives the card once over. He says your name and laughs when you respond with a yes?

“Thank you for coming,” he beams, “We’re happy to see so many people volunteering to help out.” He clicks his pen and copies your name down on a paper. You look him over as he does this. Thick, dark hair styled perfectly, with long lashes to match. His name is Sam, per the Hello my name is sticker on his shirt. He’s cute, you think.

“Yeah,” your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth so it comes out weird. After licking your lips, you continue. “Our teacher told us we could get extra credit. I guess everyone could use it after our last test.”

Nursing school is hard. Even harder when you don’t know anyone in your class. A lot of the girls all went to the surrounding high schools and knew at least one other person in one of their classes. But that wasn’t the case for you.

“I’ve heard some of those classes you all take are no joke,” he laughs, flipping through a stack of papers next to him.”

“I certainly wasn’t laughing.”

He stops his flipping, looking up at you through those thick lashes, his eyes creased at the corners from his smile.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

The question catches you off guard. Was it that obvious?”

“N-no, I’m from up north.” You gesture upward, pointing above you.

“Like Canada?”

Now you’re smiling, “Try Anderson.”

“Oh, jeez,” he shakes his head, “That’s hardly north.”

“More north than here.”

“You got me there.”

He pulls a small stack from his pile, sliding it across the table until it’s in front of you. You look down at it, immediately noticing that a large portion of the top page is blacked out by sharpie. Flipping it over, you see that the second page is pretty much the same, barely any information to be gathered at all from this “info” sheet.

“You look confused,” Sam says in a sarcastic tone.

“Um, just a little,” you sass him back, looking at him with a silent plea for answers.

“Okay, so, this guy here,” he points to the top of the page, finger just above the name Eddie Munson. “He’s not a very…popular guy around this area. I’ve been trying to get someone to take him as their case all morning and everyone’s turned him down.”

Your head tilts, eyes skimming over the paper as he talks. Under his name is an address in Hawkins, but most everything else is blacked out, even his age.

Still, even with the lack of knowledge you’ve hardly ever been one to turn someone down.

“Okay,” you say with a nod.

“Okay?” Sam parrots back, shifting forward excitedly in his seat.

“Yes, I’ll take him.”

“That’s great!”

He grabs his pen and writes your name next to Mr.Munson’s on the paper, before sliding it into a white folder.

Sam pauses for a moment, a hand running through his hair as he looks around. “Hold on,” he says as he stands up, “let me find my lead and I’ll try and get you some more information on him.” He looks into your eyes, then up and down at you. Was he checking you out? Ugh, why did you have to be in your uniform right now?

You stand awkwardly as he leaves, taking the time to flatten the wrinkles in your dress and adjust your flossie. This school was one the only schools who hadn’t gotten with the times, still mandating the Nightingale uniform over scrubs for any female students.

“Okay, so,” Sam tucks some papers into a red folder, “I wasn’t able to get anything too specific to tell you. I guess there’s a lot of hush hush going on with him right now. But, my lead did tell me I could give you this care packet. It’s all stuff you should know how to do, but it’ll give you a hint on what kind of care he’s going to need.”

You take the folder from him, opening it up to peak inside, only for him to place another paper with a card attached on top.

“That paper is for the organization itself. You just have to have the patient or guardian sign when you go over there as proof to get your credit. Oh and,” he points to the card,” that’s my information. Feel free to call me if you, uh, have any questions.”

Suddenly, someone bumps into you. You close the folder quickly and turn around with wide eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” your classmate, Rhonda, apologizes with a wave of her hands as she keeps walking down the table. You breathe in, giving her a nod of acknowledgment before looking at Sam again.

“Okay, um, thank you for everything,” you say, backing up from the table and making your exit. He calls out to you, but your ears are already starting to ring before you can even get to the double doors.

Your feet carry you out of the building and into the hot August air. Sweat immediately beads at your hairline under the unforgiving sun, a most brutal summer that feels like it’s never going to end.

You make a beeline for the parking lot, fumbling with your keys as you unlock your car and immediately begin rolling your windows down to try and let the non-existent breeze cool down your interior. Reaching inside you grab your pack of smokes and lighter from your middle console, lighting one up and feeling immediate relief as the smoke fills your lungs.

The drive to your friend's house is quiet other than the low tune of the radio playing. Tonya’s car isn’t in the driveway, and you say a silent thanks under your breath to have some time alone. You love Tonya, she’s been with you through everything, but you need some time to mentally decompress before dealing with her big personality.

After a quick shower and a bit of rummaging through the fridge for something quick to eat, you sit at the dining room table and start going through the red folder Sam gave to you. The top paper with the signature spots had a section on the top that you hadn’t noticed before where some information had been filled out.

“The patient would like to be seen at…” You see a few time slots printed on the paper starting from 8 am ranging all the way to 5pm, the ladder being the time circled. You suddenly realize Sam never asked you what your availability was, or much of anything really. Not that you asked him anything either.

Five pm was pretty late in the day, and as you kept reading, you noticed that the next section asking for “frequency of visits” had Monday through Friday circled.

This guy wants to be seen every day? You think to yourself. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone to cook for him or something.

Going through the different directional packets doesn’t make you feel much better. Information on post op care, wound disinfection, dressing changes--things you’ve done before, but not by yourself, and certainly not in someone’s home.

Why do you do this to yourself?

The drive to Hawkins isn’t terrible. The “Welcome to Hell” didn’t do anything to settle your nerves, but you persisted.

A lot of closed roads lead you to take some detours, but you’d still be able to see how badly damaged the town was after the earthquake hit them. Businesses, houses, streets, all completely ruined by the way the ground split the town in fours.

You mustered up the courage to ask one of your classmates from here about what happened, and she told you that some serial killer tried to destroy the town by sacrificing teens to the devil. “Oh, okay,” was all you could give as a response. It was hard to tell if she was fucking with you or not, so you just decided to go and see Sam instead.

That turned out to not be a fruitful endeavor either. He seemed to dance around your questions, dodging them by asking you about yourself instead. You left with none of your questions answered other than a start date for your visitations.

The start day is today, a blazing hot Monday. You didn’t have time to change out of your uniform since your professor asked you to stay over to help clean up after labs, clock getting closer and closer to 5pm as you drive down this woodsy road.

A mailbox appears ahead with numbers that match the address given to you. You slow down and turn onto the gravel path, expecting to see a house as you do. Instead the drive continues into the woods, the thick lining of the surrounding trees blocking you from seeing past the brush even with full sun. The gravel crunches under your tires as you keep going down the path, following it up a slight incline before reaching a clearing.

In the center of the clearing is a one story ranch style house, half brick and half light blue paneling. It has a covered front porch, bare except for a small table and a single chair, an overflowing ashtray dead in the center. Well that’ll be good for you.

The house looked brand new, and completely out of place in the middle of the woods. It was almost creepy in the way it contrasts against the trees and dirt, no grass to be found.

That's what it is, you realize. This house feels void of life.

You park your car next to an old gray pick up truck and sit there for a moment. Maybe you could smoke one more cigarette before going in. But what if they heard you coming and wonder why you’re taking so long?

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, grabbing your supply bag and pushing open the car door.

You keep your head down, watching the dirt stick to your black uniform shoes as you cross the yard to the front porch. You knock on the door, wiping your feet on the welcome mat as best as you could. A pair of dirty work boots sits just outside the door.

There’s movement behind the door that makes your head snap up, taking in a deep breath as you wait for the door to open. A quiet pause is interrupted by the sounds of multiple locks being undone and the door pulling open just enough to make the chain lock taught.

An older gentleman’s wrinkled face makes its appearance in the crack of the door, looking at you up and down. “Can I help you?” He has a slight southern drawl, voice a bit horse as if he had just woken up.

“Y-yes,” you squak, “um, are you Mr.Munson?”

His eye narrows and you see his arm shift behind the wall.

“Depends on who's askin.”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m here volunteering with Visiting Angels? I was-“

He cuts you off with your name, asking it as a confirmation of who you are. You nod, “Yes, that’s me!” He looks you up and down. He grunts, shifting a bit until the sound of something hitting the ground slightly catches your attention.

The door closes slightly, and with a click opens fully to reveal the older man in his entirety, standing aside enough for you to walk in, but his eyes scan the area behind you suspiciously.

“Come on in,” he says, closing the door behind you, “I honestly didn’t think anyone was gonna come.”

“Well, I don’t mind the drive,” you say with a tight smile. Mr.Munson stands in place as you let your eyes wander over the house. The smell of fresh paint filled your nostrils, and the new furniture and bare walls gave you the same creepy feeling as the outside of the house. As your eyes reach the front door, you suppress a physical reaction to the large shotgun leaning against the wall next to it.

A deep sigh from the man has you turning to face him, his rough hand running over his face to the back of his head. “You don’t have any clue, do you?”

“I’m sorry?” You’re having a hard time hiding the nerves that are bubbling up in your chest, body entering fight or flight mode.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, walking away from you and plopping down in one of the recliners. He gestures to the couch, “Have a seat, I’ll try and explain.”

You hesitate. You’re right by the door, you don’t have to do this. This guy doesn’t seem like he needs any help anyway. Sam’s words about him not being very popular in this area come to the forefront of your mind and now your head is swirling with possibilities as to why.

A small ringing from another part of the couch pulls you from your spiral.

“Shit, hold on a second,” the man says as he rises back to his feet, “let me go see what he wants and I’ll be right back.” He walks past you and down the hall, leaving you by yourself.

This is it. Just turn around now and leave.

“Whatcha need, Ed?”

Your ears perk up. Was the man you were talking to not who you came here for? Maybe it’s his dad, and the man you’re talking to is just Eddie’s tired son who needs help taking care of him. But why would he call his own dad Ed? Maybe it’s an uncle or a family friend? He did say he was a Munson…

“Okay, let me whip something up for ya.”

The mystery Munson walks back down the hall, slowing down enough to talk as he walks by. “The boy’s hungry, can we talk in the kitchen while I heat him up somethin?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you say after a moment, following behind him into a large dining room/kitchen area. There’s a huge table in the center of the dining area that’s covered with boxes labeled with things like “dishes,” “salvaged photos,” “salvaged misc.” It all the sudden clicks for you.

“So, I’m not sure what all they told you,” the man starts, speaking with his back turned as he pulls some things from the fridge.

“I was given a name and an andress,” you say almost playfully, letting some of the tension leave your body.

“Should’a known,” he says, looking over his shoulder at you with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “I think its for legal purposes, they can't disclose much about my nephew or something like that. But, uh,” he nods his head to one of the bar chairs at the counter between the two of you, “I can.”

And so he did. He told you about how a murderer had escaped from prison and snuck back to Hawkins, murdering teens and attempting to pin it on his nephew. The killer had killed a girl in their old trailer, right in front of Eddie, almost killing him, too.

But, since no one had realized that the killer escaped, the whole town had believed it was Eddie the whole time. Four teens were killed, almost 5, and Eddie was brutally tortured before his friends were able to save him.

“Oh, my god,” you gasp with a hand over your mouth.

“I know,” the man, Wayne, says as he scoops the macaroni and cheese into a bowl. He opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon with a large, grippy handle that you recognized from your nurse shadowing. They’re normally used for people who’ve had strokes or other hand mobility issues. He shoves the spoon into the bowl and walks around the counter.

“I guess I’ve talked about him enough, might as well meet him for yourself.”

You slid out of your seat and follow Wayne down the hall to the very end. He gives the door a knock before opening it with a quick “coming in!”

Stepping in behind him, you see a large, mostly empty room with more new looking furniture and a few boxes in various places. In the center against the wall was a hospital bed with a large pull bar dangling above it. You were expecting to see someone laying in the bed, but were met with the sight of a lump of blankets and comforters instead.

“Ed, food’s ready boy,” Wayne says as he pulls a bedside table from against the wall to the bed. “Got someone here for you to meet, too.”

The lump on the bed moves a bit, and for a brief moment you see a set of eyes and a few wild curls peek from under the covers. But, just as quickly as you see them, they’re hidden once again.

“Ed—“

“No,” his muffled, strained voice calls from under the covers.

“Boy, don’t do this. You know I can’t leave you alone when I go—“

“No!” The voice squeaks, followed by a harsh cough. Wayne sighs, setting the bowl down softly.

“Let me get him set up and I’ll, uh, meet you back out in the living room.”

“Oh, okay,” you say quickly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind you. You’re barely down the hall when you can hear some strained yelling coming from the last room at the end of the hall.

You settle back in the kitchen where you can’t hear the conversation happening between the two men. You thought about dark and dull eyes that looked at you briefly, how even with only that small glance of him, Eddie looked tired. Just about as tired as his uncle, who rounded the corner a few minutes later.

“I’m so sorry about him, he’s just a little weary about strangers,” the older man says walking over to the phone sitting on the wall, picking it up and dialing.

“It’s okay, I can understand that.” You give him a small smile, which he tries to return, but is distracted as whoever he’s calling picks up on their end.

“Hey, Chief, it’s Wayne—sorry, yeah, Jim. Listen, Ed’s new caretaker is here, but he’s throwing a bit of a fit about ‘er. Think you’d be able to come and sit with him f’r the night until we can try again tomorrow?”

Disappointment washes over you. Not that you weren’t used to rejection, but you’d hardly been able to even give a first impression. Maybe your uniform put him off? Gotta start keeping clothes in the car to change into from now on…

The phone clings as Wayne hangs it up, body relaxing as a slow breath leaves him. He looks over to you, rather looking through you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Little miss, can I be frank with you?”

“It’s the uniform isn’t it?”

Wayne barks out a laugh, and you chuckle even though your inquiry was serious. “No, no--well, maybe a little.”

“I knew it,” you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to wear it when you’re here. S’long as you’re decent I don’t really care what you wear here to be honest. But, I did want to talk to you more about what we’re actually needing here.”

You look up at him, head tilting to the side in confusion. Several questions sit on the tip of your tongue, but you chose to just nod for him to continue.

“Okay. So, uh, I’ve been off work this whole time. Since March. I’ve been with the plant for a long time and my boss’s took a lotta pity on me with everything that’s going on. But…well that time is running out, and I can’t rely on anyone else to keep these bills paid, ya know?”

“Yes, yeah, I totally get that. Broke college kid here.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “So, I gotta go back to work. Tonight, actually, and, uh, I know this is short notice, but I need someone to stay here…while I’m at work.”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh, you wanted me to be, like, an overnight caretaker?”

“Yeah, I just, ya see with everything I told you about what happened, I couldn’t get anyone to come out and take care of him. Either they couldn’t pass a background check or once they realized who he was…So the Visiting Angel’s place was my last ditch effort to try and get someone in here. They said that it would be free if we went through the volunteer program, and that even though y’all are students that you’d still be able to help--But I understand if you can’t. You probably got a job and a family and a boyfrie--”

“I’ll do it.” The words fly out of your mouth without much thinking. But this poor man in front of you has been through hell with his nephew and how can you say no to him?

“Wait, really?” It’s his turn for his eyes to bug out, hardly able to believe what he’s hearing.

“Yeah, sure, I don’t mind. What time do you need me to be here?”

Wayne’s face softens, head hanging low like he still can’t wrap his head around your words. “Well, uh,” he starts, “I gotta leave here ‘round 6:30 and I work til about 5 am give or take depending on the night crew. If you'd be here about 6 or quarter after, that would be just fine. I don’t know how to cook much, but I could try and whip ya up something when I make Ed’s dinner, and you could work on yer school or watch tv or whatever girls your age like to do.”

“I’m plenty content to just work on school or watch tv,” you assure him.

“Good, good,” he says with a nod, turning to look into the living room. “We don’t got a bed in the third bedroom yet, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch until I can find the time to go and get one. Am I gonna have’ta talk to your parents or anything about why you’re not coming home during the week or anything?”

“What? Oh, no, no,” you wave your hands at his question, “Not unless you know how to talk to the dead.”

“Ah, shit, sorry,” Wayne cringes, hand running through his barely there hair.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know,” you say as you stand from your chair, “I will have to figure out how to tell my roommate. I don’t think she would like it if I told her that I was staying the night with a guy who was acquitted for murder.”

Oops. You bite your tongue between your teeth, wishing you could take the last bit of that sentence back. But Wayne’s laugh makes you feel less bad.

“Trust me, if I was in your roommates shoes I wouldn’t be too happy either.”

The ring of Eddie’s bell echoes down the hall again, pulling both of your attention to the sound.

“Better let me go myself. Don’t want to upset him again tonight. Why don’t you go head and head home and in the meantime I’ll talk to him. Try again tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“Good,” Wayne says, walking you to the door. He lets you out with a goodbye, the closing of the front door being followed by the sounds of locks being put back in their place.

The drive home was quiet, but your head was swirling with thoughts. Your brain goes back and forth on the situation you just got yourself into.

Instead of focusing on the negatives, you decide to make a list in your mind of things you’d need to bring with you to stay the night; a toothbrush, deodorant, your own pillow and blanket—would they let you take a shower there? Hopefully so, since some days you’re going to have to come over straight from work or class. So add shampoo and conditioner. Probably body wash, too. You doubt that two men living together use anything other than head and shoulders.

You cringe when you think about using feminine products while there. Maybe you’d just keep them in your bag and grab them as you need them. It wouldn’t hurt to bring an extra towel in case you need to put it under you while you sleep.

Going through your mental checklist helps make the drive go by. Before you know it, you’re turning onto your street, where, surprise, surprise, Tonya’s boyfriend is once again parked in your spot in the driveway. You park on the street with a huff, thinking of all the things you want to say, but know you ultimately wont, not being one for confrontation.

“Hey, girl,” Tonya calls out from the couch. The smell of delicious food filling the whole house, so you know Charles must be cooking. “Go get a plate, Charlie just finished cooking.”

“I’m good, I grabbed something while I was out.” A lie, but you’d rather retreat to your room until Charles left. You’ve never been a fan of him and his pompous, know it all attitude. It was just better if you kept your interactions with him to a minimum rather than having to pretend he doesn’t get on your nerves.

It was a few hours later, nearing 10 pm when you finally heard Tonya shut the front door, signaling that it was safe to leave. She was cleaning up Charle’s mess in the kitchen when you walked out from your room.

“Hey,” you said quietly, keeping a comment about cleaning up after a child to yourself.

“I was wondering when you were going to come out,” she teases. “Thought I was gonna have to slip you a plate under your door.”

“Ha, ha,” you deadpan, opening the fridge to pull out leftovers from the weekend.

“So why’d you come home so late today?”

The calendar with both of your schedules scribbled in stared you in the face as you closed the refrigerator door. You weren’t a very social person, usually just coming straight home from school or work. And even though Tonya was a very chill person 99% of the time, that wasn’t the case when it came to you.

“I, uh…” you stuttered. You had the whole drive home and you forgot to think about what you’d tell her. If she knew the truth, she’d flip her lid and talk you out of it. You could try to lie, but there’s no way she’d believe you if you told her you were staying with a new guy that you’d never talked about or that you were helping out another friend she knows you don’t have.

“I had a job interview!” It was the only sensible thing you could think of that may be somewhat convincing to her. “For a…nursing home. As a nurse's assistant.”

“Woah, really?” Tonya sets her cup on the counter, jaw dropped in excitement. “Omg, okay, how did it go? Are they going to have you do another interview? Details, girl, details!”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, putting out your hands to keep her from shaking you. You wrack your brain, trying to come up with a story on the spot. “It’s a newer nursing home…very small. Um, I would be able to do some of my nursing stuff under supervision of a nurse. And…it’s overnights—“

“Hold on, overnights?” Tonya interruptus, “Girl, that’s a lot with your school schedule.”

“Oh, um, I know, but its super casual and I can sleep in the afternoon when I get out of class or after work—“

“Wait, you’re not quitting CoffeeHouse?”

Shit.

“Ah, about that, um, I’m…still going to try and work there, just in case. Like if this doesn’t work out.”

Tonya eyes you, making your hands feel sweaty under her scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t understand,” she states with a concerned tone.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you need to have two jobs? You don’t pay rent, Charlie cooks for all of us a couple times a week. I take care of the bills—“

“I feel guilty,” you blurt out, feeling actually guilty when you see her face contort with sadness.

“No, babes, I told you that I didn’t want your money. I want you to focus on something for you for once.”

“This is for me though. It’s a chance to actually get a more authentic experience in my field, and — and I can’t just take and take from you forever.”

Tonya lunges forward, enveloping you in her arms. “Why noooooot,” she wines, fake crying into your shoulder, “just let me take care you, baby giiiiiirl.”

“Stooooooooop,” you cry back, “I’m an independent woman who don’t need no man, remember? I believe you’re the one who told me that.”

“Right, no man. But you do need me!” She pulls back flashing her picture perfect smile at you that has had guys folding for her since middle school.

“You’re right,” you sigh in faux defeat, “if only I was enough for you…”

“Oh my gooooood, just get over your hang ups and learn to love him. He’s really not that bad.”

“I don’t know what you see in him.”

“Not like you have room to talk.”

You gasp, putting on a dramatic display at her poking at your taste in men.

“Don’t even try it,” she flicks your forehead. “When you find a guy that’s not totally batshit, then come talk to me.”

“I can’t help that I attract the crazies.”

After a few more white lies and half truths, the conversation shifts to other topics, including that of a retreat that Charles is planning for the two of them for their one year anniversary. Eventually you wind down and head to your room, making sure to check the locks on the door and windows on the way.

thank you for reading.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson slow burn #disabled!eddie munson #eddie lives #eddie munson st4 #canon divergent #grumpy!eddie munson x sunshine!reader #eddie munson x nurse!reader

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lovifie · 9 months ago

Text

Her Royal Highness Pt.5

Masterlist

Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

The people of the city turn out to be delighted, elated to be visited by the Princess. And you feel glad because they don't look at you with the fear the guard had, they look at you with happiness in their eyes, joyful the Princess finally left the castle.

They are so happy, that they don't seem to notice the mysterious men that follow you. Not literally, they remained on a table inside the inn, but you can feel their eyes on you at all times.

It is a nice thing they do, because after a while you start to feel dizzy. People keep pulling you in different directions, wanting to show you places and introduce you to people. You can see the guard from the journey, and he looks ready to pull his hair out every time someone grabs your hand, afraid that you are going to suddenly turn into a tyrant like your late father.

You won't, of course. Getting a taste of what a kingdom that likes you feels like, you don't want to experience the opposite. At some point, the guard loses his patience and peels your hand away from the people, guiding you to the table where everyone else is eating.

“Ooh, the Princess finally resigned herself to sit with us. Such an honour, your Royal Highness.” Gaz exclaims, standing up just to do a dramatic reverence, with Soap doing exactly the same.

“Sit down, you muppets.” The king orders next to you with a teasing note in his voice. So he can be nice. That's how he sounds when normal.

“Yes, my dear King” Soap says, doing a second reference before sitting down. Price snickers beside you at Soap's antics, if only you could get on his good side like that.

Around the rectangular table, you are sitting beside the king on one side, with Gaz, Soap and Ghost sitting on the opposite. Ghost and you are the ones sitting the more far away from each other, which is why it surprises you to see him staring at you.

You maintain eye contact, not wanting to back down first, and surprisingly it's him who does. But only to look at your hand, his eyebrows raise, remembering something. You look at him curious as he gets his hand inside his pocket and pulls something that slides across the table in your direction.

Five heads look at the object, and soon realize what he throws at you.

A ring.

A simple small gold band.

For a second, you think that it is just a weird gift from the Prince; a peace offering. But when you look at him, he looks at you expectantly as if waiting for you to answer and it clicks.

Your soon-to-be husband, is proposing to you.

“That's it?” You ask picking it up to check it better, disappointment clear in your voice.

“We're you expecting rubies?” He laughs. “I thought you were more humble than that, princess “

“It's not about the ring…” You say looking at it. “I thought you would at least ask me, indulge me a bit and trick me into thinking I had a choice, you know.”

“If you were expecting me to kneel, you may be more stupid than we thought.” He chuckles drily.

You ignore him, the insult falling on deaf ears at this point and focus on the ring. Just looking at it you know it's not going to be your size, and when you try to get your finger in it, it is so much bigger it could fit two of yours. You realise then, that they didn't even bother to find an actual ring, and just used one they had themselves.

“It doesn't fit.” You comment, still looking at your hand.

“Close your fist then.” Ghost answers. “Better not lose it.”

You should hit him. Shove the ring down his throat until he chokes. But you don't, instead, you stand up, ring in hand, and walk up to the room they lend you without saying anything else.

Some of the maids quickly follow you as you walk upstairs into the room. Your luggage is already there, and you take out the nightgown even though the sun is still out. But your chances are going down to the king and putting up with their passive-aggressive remarks or going out and getting hurt or kidnapped by people's kindness.

You are far from being used to dealing with this many people on a daily basis, so the silence of the room when you get out of the bathtub makes you want to go to sleep.

So you step into the room, looking at the ground and closing the door behind you. When you look up to your bed, the bed looks back at you. Well, not the bed, but Simon.

You gasp when you see the behemoth of a man, laying down on his back on your bed without his mask and cape. In his hands, he is playing with a garment you can figure out at first.

Until he smirks at you, and then you realize is the undergarments you were wearing today. “Simon!” You exclaim, completely scandalized by the violation of your privacy. “That's not yours!”

The fact that he entered your room while you were bathing becomes a second offence, and you walk up to him ready to take it back. Except it looks like that was exactly his plan because when you extend your hand to try and grab it, he grabs your wrist pulling you on top of him.

You shriek out of the surprise, in part surprised by his strength; able to hold you up by the hand on your wrist and in part, surprised by his lack of decorum. He is so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, he is looking up at you with such a condescending look but it is the eye contact of his golden brown eyes that keeps you in a trance.

Trance, that gets suddenly broken by a sharp pain in your ass when Simon slaps your ass. You slowly look back at him and slap him back on his chest. “You did not fucking do that!” You exclaim, and he raises his eyebrows. “Princess!” He says covering his mouth with his free hand. “Language!”

You manage to get your hand free and get back on your feet. You point to the door and say: “Get out!”

He barks a laugh sitting up at the edge of the bed, and at a surprisingly fast speed, he hugs your waist pulling you tight against him again. You manage to get your hands on his shoulder, pulling some distance between him and you.

“But I need to check your wound, Princess.” He says looking up through his eyelashes. “The wound is amazing, Simon. You can leave.” You answer, still trying to pull back.

One of his hands moves up to your waist, and with his thumb and index, he presses over your wound, hard, drawing little droplets of blood and making you wince. “That does sound amazing, but I don't think your wound is.” He says pulling his finger back and licking the blood of his thump while looking at you. You can feel the heat in your ears, an obvious sign of your flush, completely uncalled for.

You're supposed to get warm with gentle touches, grazing hands and kisses on the cheek. Not by this brute, personification of strength, licking your blood.

“Let me see it, Princess.” He says sternly looking at you. You feel trapped, like in a cage… a really warm cage. So you start to pull the gown up, and you can feel Simon's eyes drag up the newly exposed skin, you are not wearing anything under the nightgown and he notices his eyes widening slightly. One of your hands remains between your legs, making sure only the outside of your leg is exposed as the other rises the gown up to right below your boob where the wound is.

Simon sets his hand on your knee engulfing it, and apparently, he needs to move his hand up your tights, your hips and up to under your boob just to check the wound. He touches the wound, moving his thumb across it and his fingernail grazes your underboob causing you goosebumps. You turn your head, unable to keep looking at his face, letting a sight escape your lips trying to play it out as a sight of annoyance.

“You were right, it looks good.” He murmurs, when you feel his breath against your skin you whip your head back to look at him, just to see him lick a strip right under the wound, causing a whine out of you at the heat of his tongue.

You slap his shoulder this time, taking a step back and putting the nightgown down. “Why did you do that? You are gonna get it infected!” He simply laughs at your face and adds: “Sorry, Princess, I just wanted a taste. It was too tempting.”

“You are a really weird man, Simon Price!” You exclaim, moving back until your back hits the wall, putting as much space as possible between him and you.

He looks at you confused, before standing up and walking up to you. “Why do you say that, Princess?” He asks, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm?”

“One second you do these… things. Next second you don't even look at me and treat me like trash.” You say looking at the floor.

He chuckles, cupping your face making you look up to him. “Is this because I told you I wouldn't kneel? Now, Princess. I already gave you the ring, why else do you want me to kneel for you, hm?” He asks getting his face close to yours, for a second you panic he would kiss you, but just before reaching it, he moves to your ear and whispers: “Naughty, girl.”

Putting his hands on your hips, he turns you around leaving you staring at the wall. “Better to check the exit too.” He murmurs against your neck. “Do it quick, and leave.” You order, trying to remain calm.

Instead, he takes his time. Crouching down, knee almost touching his ground, and he grabs the hem of the gown, and slowly, really slowly, as if time has stopped and therefore he had all the time in the world, he starts to raise it, with his fingertip gracing the skin of your leg, fingernail scratching just at the verge of pain.

Goosebumps spread as he rises, up your calf, up your thigh, up your arse, which he touches with no remorse, and up your back. With one hand, he holds the gown up, and with the other, he caresses your hip.

You don't feel his eyes on your wound, you feel them lower. And if you have the courage, you would confront him; but coming face to face and he proudly admitting, because he would, that yes, in fact, he was staring at your arse, it's not something you could bear without blushing and therefore feeding his ego.

“How is it?” You ask, growing impatient with his lack of sounds.

“Amazing, indeed.” He answers immediately, and you know he is not talking about the wound, but that'll do for now. So you take a step to the side, getting out of his hold and let the gown back down, covering your body.

“Great, then you can leave.” You say, crossing your arms unable to look at him.

“But why? I'm enjoying myself in here, Princess.” He says chuckling at you.

“Precisely!” You exclaim and grab his wrist, him obviously letting you drag him. You open the door, ready to throw him out when you come to face with Gaz who looks ready to knock at the door. He looks between Simon and you, before gasping loudly.

“Premarital encounters?!” He asks smiling widely, and making you roll your eyes, pushing Simon out of the room and slamming the door. Hearing the two men laugh loudly on the other side.

The next morning, a quick breakfast is eaten. The ring is not on your finger, too big to be comfortable to wear; instead, it is hanging from your neck with a threat. It rests on the center of your chest, so everyone can see it.

“Princess, I had an idea last night.” The king breaks the silence. “Once we are back at the kingdom, how about we arrange a joust? To welcome everyone that will help arrange the wedding. I'll help everyone to cheer up a bit.” He asks, looking at you.

“A joust?” You ask a bit surprised by the offer. There is still a sour taste on your tongue, it is only for the wedding, so people like him more. But again, he is asking you. Not for your consent, he would do it anyway. But to make you feel like you are actually heard. His voice saying “We are more powerful together than against each other” comes to mind, and you decide to play along: “Sure, that sounds fun.”

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jaelvr · 7 months ago

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Like crazy

Home | NCT 127 masterlist |

Requested : no

Prompts ; 57. “I’m just tired of this. I’m tired of it all.” + 65. “You know I wouldn’t call unless I was in pain.”

Pairing : ex! Mark x reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : angst, fluff, suggestive

Word count : 3.3k

Warnings : confused feelings, exes to ???, frat! au, fluff, slightly ooc, mentions/use of weed + alcohol !!

Have a great day !!

——————————

"You know I wouldn't call unless I was in pain." Mark huffed, a gentle and genuine tone to his voice. He knew exactly how to pull on your strings every time. "Alright, alright." you gave in, running a hand through your hair as you sighed down the phone. "I'll be there in five." you murmured, humming as you heard him thanking you before hanging up. You pulled your trainers on and the slightly worn hoodie he'd given you last year on, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your gut. It wasn't anything new with Mark getting into fights. Except this time, it had been with another member of his basketball team, refusing to tell you who or why the fight had happened.

You'd reached his dorm in just under five minutes, and he answered the door almost immediately. "I didn't disturb you, did I?" he asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he stepped aside to let you in. "'s fine." you lied, biting your tongue as you tried to ignore how attractive he was looking like always after practice. "Where does it hurt?" you murmured, sitting on his sofa once you'd taken your shoes off, ignoring the flashbacks of what happened on the sofa last time you were over. He removed his jersey, showing the slight cut on his arm and the bruises. The light in the living room made his face more clear, a ring around his eye that would soon turn black now more visible. "Mark.." you sighed, your thumb running across his cheek subconsciously, swallowing the lump in your throat when you felt him nuzzle into your hand.

Sure, he could deal with these himself, but there was something in him, a part of him, that craved your gentle touch. It desired you to take care of him, to baby him like you always used to. You didn't miss the mix of lust and longing in his eyes as he watched you carefully tend to him, cleaning his cuts and applying ointment to his bruises. You felt yourself giving in, the butterflies swarming your stomach and the fuzzy feeling consuming you every time your eyes met each others.

And you didn't pull away as he leaned in, connecting your lips once again.

----

"..Hey." the voice spoke as you filled your cup back up in the kitchen, away from the group in the living room. You nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. "You really need to stop following me." you spoke, a small smirk on your face as you looked at him. "And why would that be? I can't follow my love wherever they go?" He smirked back, leaning against a kitchen counter next to you and crossing his arms as he stood close to you. "Since when was I yours again?" you shot back teasingly, downing what was in your cup for confidence before facing your ex again. "It's obvious, isn't it? You can deny it all you want, but you are mine, mine, mine." He joked, leaning even closer to you now as he put a hand on your hip, his voice just a low whisper at this point as his grin widened to match yours. "Especially after what happened the other night." he murmured, forehead against yours.

"We agreed not to talk about that." you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck and toying with the ends of his mullet. "I know, but the memory just seems to keep replaying in my head over and over again." He teased, hand still on your hip as he held you tighter against him and his voice was just as low as before. "I swear, hearing you moan like that will be forever ingrained in my brain." He murmured, tilting your head back just slightly and whispering some more right into your ear. "Mark.." you murmured, a warning in your tone which only encouraged him. "Do you know how tempting it is, to have my love stand right in front of me like this right now?" He murmured, hands moving up your body now and squeezing your hips as his breath hit your neck. "Do you know how much I want to just pin you to this counter and-" he cut off what he was about to say, smirking at you.

"Stop it. We can't." you shook your head, biting your lip to hold your moan in, refusing to give in easily. The pair of you knew exactly what would happen and you refused to let the cycle repeat yet again. "Can't? Or don't want to?" he murmured, his breath still against your neck as his hands squeezed your hips tighter. "I think it's pretty obvious we both want it, baby. So why don't we just go ahead and give in already and have some fun?" He murmured, whispering some more now against your ear and nipping at it with his teeth too. "We…we shouldn't-" you started, a soft whimper escaping your lips and a hand instantly getting tangled into his hair. "Oh, but baby, we should" he murmured, tugging on your hair as his hand moved to caress your side and squeeze your hip even further to get a reaction from you. "It's not like either of us will regret it later on. All we'd probably regret is not doing it sooner." he mumbled, mouth moving to kiss your neck once before returning to whisper another sentence to you. "So why don't I just lift you up and-"

he was going to be the death of you.

----

It had happened again. And again and again and again. You were both at another party being held within his frat house, messily making out in the darkened hallway. The pair of you were doing your usual routine, making out every so often when it was just the two of you. Things would always feel awkward afterwards, but both you and Mark knew that there was no point in trying to deny each other's desires. You both wanted it, didn't you? So now here you were, once again, making out deeply in a darkened hallway. Your hands ran through his messy mullet once more, your bodies pressed tightly against one another. You had missed the feeling, honestly. "you wanna ditch this party?" you murmured in between kisses, soft giggles escaping you every now and then. "we could go for a drive or something."

"That's a great idea." He sighed softly, reluctantly pulling away from you now as he looked at you. "I could use a break from all the noise. Let's do it." He smiled at you, slipping his hand around your waist. "We can go somewhere quiet. No one will bother us there." he whispered, caressing your cheek. "lead the way, pretty boy." you breathed out, a flushed look on your face from the messy makeout, gently wiping at the corner of his mouth. "Follow me, baby." he murmured, intertwining your hands and leading you out, not caring if anyone saw as he helped you into his car. Mark sighed contently once he'd begun to drive off, the pair of you finally away from the party. This felt like the closest thing to a normal relationship you'd had for a while, deciding to ignore the doubting thoughts in your head. He kept his promise, driving off somewhere you wouldn't be bothered. Mark smiled again, this time looking at you with love in his eyes as he drove, enjoying the moment and the company of you.

You got out at the familiar spot, walking a bit up the hill from where he'd parked before he set the blanket down and gently tugged you down beside him, able to admire the city's lights and the clear skies with evident stars. "God, I love how quiet and peaceful it is out here." He sighed softly, lying down next to you on the blanket and watching the city lights and the faint stars in the night sky. He smiled at you for a moment before rolling on his back and laying there, his head still turned to look at you. "I could stay here with you for hours…" he murmured, turning his head some more to catch your eyes again. You smiled at him, nuzzling into him a bit more. The tensions were high, the burning chemistry resurrecting and too much for you both to ignore any longer.

He could tell that you felt it too, the way your body pressed against him and nuzzled you even closer into him. It was clear that neither of you could resist the urge any longer. He turned and brought you into a passionate kiss, his hands tangling in your hair and lips moving against yours. His breath was hot and ragged as he kissed you, making it clear what he wanted right now. "Give me another chance." he whispered, cupping your face delicately. "Mark, we-" you started, being cut off by his finger pressing against your lips to shush you. "Just shut up and listen to me, okay?" he murmured, his voice more dominant than usual. "I know we tried this whole just being friends thing, but that was stupid. We both know it. So why don't we just admit our feelings towards each other and move on from there? Give me another chance. You know you want to. I think we could last forever."

"I'm afraid that everything will disappear. I’m just tired of this. I’m tired of it all." you whispered, leaning into his hand and gazing at the ground. "I just want us to work." you admitted, cheeks pink as you vulnerably spoke. "So do I." he sighed softly, a soft look on his face as it looked like he was trying to not let his own worries show on his expression. "I know we've had ups and downs, but do you remember how good things felt earlier on when it was just you and me and no one else?" he murmured, shifting so he was sitting right beside you. "Let's go back to that, only this time, let's fix and deal with whatever comes our way together and never let anyone else come between us. Just trust me." You met his eyes, once again falling for the loving gaze. Maybe he was right this time. "..okay." you hummed, going with your heart. "Really?" He murmured, surprise on his face as his eyes lit up in hope. "You mean it?" he asked, cupping your cheeks and leaning forward to kiss your forehead. "Just promise me you'll always be by my side then. I don't want to lose you again, and I don't ever want to go through that breakup again. Please. Let's just make this work."

You took in his words, swallowing the lump of doubt in your throat and kissing his cheek. "I promise." you whispered, nodding. "Thank you." He smiled softly, gently wiping at your cheeks with his thumbs as he kissed your forehead one more time. "I won't let things end again." He smiled again, moving so he was lying down on the blanket again right beside you and wrapping an arm around you as he pulled you closer to him. "So let's just enjoy our night together and forget about everything else, okay? Just…just for a while, let's forget about all the drama and enjoy each other's company. Sounds good?" you nodded, sitting in his lap and cuddling up to him. You didn't say a word, simply enjoying the moment. He smiled at you for a few moments more, enjoying the closeness of having you in his arms as he held you close and breathed slowly, not saying any words either. The two of you just enjoyed the quietness of the night, the quietness of nature and the silence of being alone together, away from all the noise and drama of life and the outside world. It was just the two of you. And he was content.

Please be right this time.

----

You had sat intertwined on your sofa, lazily passing a blunt around the living room with the others in your friend group you'd invited over. You were cuddled up to Mark, your arms wrapped around his side and his hoodie strings dangling in your hand as you toyed with the strings nonchalantly. Mark had one of his arms around you and was casually chatting with the others as well, the two of you just enjoying the rest of your evening and the weed together. you placed gentle kisses against his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder with a soft sigh. The others were still chatting away, laughing and cracking jokes at one another, unaware that the two of you had fallen into a cute little intimacy. You had been nuzzling into Mark's neck and planting gentle kisses against him, also letting out soft little sighs as you relaxed into the moment. Mark was grinning slightly at the touch of your lips on his neck, letting out a low moan and holding you tighter against him.

"my room?" you muttered, hand resting on his thigh as you looked innocently up at him. He smirked and took another pull of the joint, exhaling slowly before looking at you and nodding. "Let's go." He murmured, gently pushing himself away from the other members and starting to get up from the couch. He took your hand into his and pulled you with him, leading you upstairs. "Keep quiet, alright? We don't want to let them know." He murmured as he opened the door to your room and pulled you inside with him, closing the door softly behind you. His hands were all over you as soon as you entered the room, pinning you against the door and pulling you into a messy makeout. His lips were on yours, hands moving up and down the sides of your hips as he moved his hands over your body slowly. You could feel his breath against your neck, his grip tight but gentle at the same time. It felt so intense yet so passionate, and you couldn't help but get lost in the moment.

"Mark.." you moaned quietly, enjoying the feeling of his hands travelling along your body. the sight of you in one of his shirts which came to your knees had driven him insane all afternoon, especially becoming more desperate with the weed in his system. "Hnnghh…baby. Don't talk just yet." He murmured, still holding you against the door, his hands roaming over your hips as he squeezed your thighs and pulled his own body closer to you. The feel of your body pressed up against him like this was driving him insane, and the feeling got more and more desperate once you had started to moan too. "Don't say anything, it's driving me crazy just thinking about it.." He murmured, his mouth hovering slightly above yours, his breath hot on your skin. "need you Markie.." you whimpered as your hands tangled into his hair, earning a groan from him for the nickname that you knew drove him crazy.

"God damn it…" he murmured softly, a hand moving up to wrap around your back and holding you even closer as his lips pressed against yours, his fingers moving through your hair and massaging your scalp as his other hand squeezed your thighs again. "You know exactly what you're doing to me…" he groaned, his voice hoarse and his breath hot as he let a hand move up to the back of your head and start stroking your hair, slowly moving lower and lower. "what do you mean, Markie?" you continued, batting your eyelashes at him innocently, winding him up more. "Don't play innocent with me." He murmured, taking a deep breath in before letting out a groan as he felt you bat your eyelashes and grin back at him innocently. If you kept up like this, he'd lose all reason soon and give in fully to you. "You know exactly the grip you have on me, baby. Please stop playing innocent because I'm close to losing my patience here." He murmured softly, eyes still on you as a mischievous grin made its way onto his face.

"but Markie.." you whispered, leaving a hickey on his neck as your hands travelled along his chest, knowing you'd push him over the edge. "Mm..mmnghh…" He groaned softly, feeling the hickey on his neck and letting out a low moan as his eyes rolled back slightly. "Fuck…god, stop…" He murmured, his voice sounding both frustrated and desperate at the same time. His hands moved down to you now as well, running along your thighs then to your own hips, his fingers slowly caressing before moving back up, towards the back of your neck. "You gonna be good for me, baby?" he murmured, taking control as he wasted no time in removing your shirt. "I'll be so good for you, Markie. so, so good." you whimpered, moaning softly before he gently covered your mouth with his hand. "You gotta be quiet baby. Mmhh…" He groaned, feeling the hickey on his neck before feeling your hands travel along his chest too now. After feeling you moan before, his hand covered your mouth again to keep you quiet. "That's it…such a good little doll." He murmured softly, moving his hand away from your mouth and letting out another low moan as he felt your hands on him too now.

This was going to be a long night.

----

You opened your eyes slowly, groaning once more as the light from the outside blinded you and made you wince. You felt stiff and aching all over, thanks to all the activities you had last night. You stayed in bed for a moment longer, taking a deep breath and stretching your limbs, letting out a soft grunt of pain as you did so. The house was quiet, strangely quiet. You could hear your own breathing, but nothing else besides that. No voices, no footsteps or other movement. It was almost too quiet for it to be natural. You rubbed your eyes for a bit longer and moved to sit up, letting out a soft groan of pain as you stood up. You tried to brush your sleepiness off as well, stretching more to test out your muscles as you did. You looked over to the side of the bed, expecting to see Mark lying there and still asleep. But to your surprise, the bed was empty, the space beside where you two had slept last night now void. You rubbed your tired eyes again and looked around the room slowly. It was still quiet, a weirdly quiet morning as you wondered where he might have gone.

You froze as you realized Mark was nowhere to be found, and suddenly it was like a sinking feeling washed over you. A lump formed in your throat and your heart raced, anxiety filling you as you realized something was wrong. You started to think about why he might not be here and started to get paranoid about it, the quietness of it all not helping. You got up slowly, pulling on the shirt of his you had worn yesterday, feeling the pain in your thighs as you did so. The bathroom was empty, the kitchen empty, the living room empty. The entire home was empty, a quiet hush all around. As you came down the stairs, the eerie silence hit you once more, a chill running through you from how quiet it all was. His stuff was gone, gone as if he had never been here in the first place. The house was empty now, just like it had been before he had arrived. The empty house and its eerie silence reminded you of how he always played this same cycle with you. He would call you when he was bored, and you'd come running, falling right back into his lies and deceits whenever he was bored. Then, he'd disappear without a trace until the next time he felt lonely and bored again, starting the whole cycle all over again.

Alone again.

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cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 9 months ago

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Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is heart!

This is going to be a two part thing :)

(751 words.)

Remus is the last one to the hospital wing.

Sirius, the bloody idiot, managed to get himself hit over the head with a bludger, and Remus' heart is still in his throat at the memory of the boy falling from the sky. He spent the better part of ten minutes fighting to get through the people in the stands, the moment he watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team crowding around Sirius. The rush does nothing other than make him incredibly out of breath when he arrives.

Madame Pomfrey is checking over him, James and Peter turning to Remus at his arrival. Another person looks up, sat in the chair beside Sirius' bed, and Remus freezes for a moment.

Sam.

Sirius' boyfriend.

They haven't been together for very long, but Remus knows Sam doesn't like him. He takes every available opportunity to shoot Remus a glare. Not that Remus blames him. He knows it must be weird to have your boyfriend's ex hanging around all the time, but Remus has tried his best to be respectful. If anything, he's been holding back. That's all he and Sirius seem to be good at, since they broke up. Even if they're trying to be normal.

It doesn't seem to matter, though, Sam's face dropping at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, and Remus almost involuntarily arches an eyebrow. Just in front of Sam, Peter rolls his eyes at the question, and James just shrugs.

"Really? He's my friend and he fell thirty bloody feet, I kind of need to be here," he answers simply. He doesn't expect Sam to laugh, though. A breathy, almost derisive laugh escapes him, and Remus really isn't sure how to respond to that.

"Please, you're hardly friends. Everyone can see you two avoiding each other." That hits Remus, twisting his gut in an awkward, painful way. James catches the look on his face, turning to Sam.

"Oi, watch it," he warns him, and even Madame Pomfrey is watching Sam carefully.

"Just because we're in a... weird place right now doesn't mean I'm not going to show up when he gets hurt," Remus states plainly. Sirius has been there for every single full since Remus forgave him for what he did, even if they struggle to talk after.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by Sirius. He's starting to stir, a grumble escaping him. Everyone's heads snap to him, Peter reaching out and pulling Remus slightly closer to the bed. Sam's focus is straight back onto Sirius, and it's clear to Remus that he's not about to wake up. It's definitely a good sign that he's not entirely unconscious, but his eyes aren't about to just... open. His voice is different when he's sleep talking. Lower.

Sam just doesn't know that yet.

It's obvious that he's trying to form words, everybody watching in silence.

"Mmny... R'mus," there's a slight frown on his face as Remus' heart stops.

Oh.

Maybe he's just hearing things.

"Remus," his name leaves Sirius' lips again, and everybody seems to freeze.

A few agonising moments pass, Remus' brain moving at a million miles an hour as he tries to quash the warmth spreading through his veins. Eventually, after what feels like hours but is probably only a few seconds, Sam pushes the chair away from the bed, stands and storms out, head down. He barges past Remus with his shoulder as he leaves, but it really doesn't matter to Remus. He's a little distracted by the unconscious Sirius, who's somehow searching for Remus in his dreams.

It's enough to push Remus closer to the bed, carefully reaching out and brushing a few hairs from Sirius' face. There's a deep purple bruise across Sirius' temple and over to the edge of his eye. The serenity that crosses his face when Remus touches him warms him immeasurably.

He knows he's still in love with Sirius. Honestly? Loving Sirius is the same as breathing for him at this point. It comes naturally, a constant in the back of his mind, impossible to forget.

Sirius doesn't need that burden dropped on him. They're not together anymore, and Remus is doing his best to accept that.

"Please don't tell him," he says simply, tearing his eyes away from Sirius and onto James and Peter. "About what he said."

That seems to baffle the other two marauders, but Remus throws them a pleading glance. It's enough for the two of them to nod.

"Okay."

Part 2 here!

#remus is so oblivious and i love him for it #post prank stuff?? fuck yes #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

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redrobinhoodrat · 1 year ago

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BABY BOO CHAPTER ONE

Jason is out patrolling and for some reason he’s got random noises coming through his coms.

Well, not random. It’s only been the one noise that he’s been hearing over and over. He can only hear it at random intervals but the pitch is enough to make his teeth ache- the green that flashes in front of his eyes isn’t very reassuring either.

To top everything off, Red was watching him like a hawk. The paranoid little shit already picking up on how tense he was. He rolled his shoulders as he landed the next swing, trying to keep his flinch at the noise minimal. It shouldn’t even bother him. He’s never been sensitive to loud noises, he uses guns for god's sake! Usually, he’d pass this off as something fucked up with his helmet.

It was grating on him though. It made his chest feel tight, like he was about to panic. The weird staticky chirp played over and over as he stood there trying the figure it out. It had to be getting louder, right? Why was he constantly hearing it now? Where was it coming from? Why-

“-Hood!” He gasped as he felt someone grab his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed he’d closed his eyes and gripped the sides of his helmet. He looked up into Red Robin’s mask as he tried to relax. He could see the worry across his face and tried to straighten up from his slightly crouched position.

“Red Robin, report.” Batman’s voice came through the coms and Jason was too slow to catch Tim’s attention as he shook his head and made a slashing motion at his throat. He watched as the kid straightened at the command and hurried to reply before his brother could get everyone riled up.

“Everything is fine.”

“You weren’t responding.”

“This,” he said harshly, “is me responding. Everything is fine.” Jason continued making vague threatening motions towards Tim since he seemed like he was about to chime in. He thought the last threat really hit home since the kid’s shoulders hunched up and he looked a little huffy as he responded.

“Everything’s fine Batman. Just a communication error.” Jason gave him a short nod as he tuned everything back out. The noise hadn’t happened in a second and instead of feeling relieved he felt his anxiety kick up. He glanced around as he tried to contain the urge to hunt for…something. He still wasn’t sure here.

“Hood, B’s not going to be happy when we get back if you keep ignoring him. What’s going on?” Tim had moved to be in front of Jason. Not too close though, he’d noticed him cocking his head and he could barely see the slight sheen of green shining from beneath his eye lenses. Something was up and he was going to figure it out. He watched Jason’s head snap towards him as he moved a step closer. He seemed to be twitchy but resigned as he sighed before answering.

“There’s a weird noise coming through my helmet. I’ve been trying to figure it out but I can’t. It’s making the pits act weird.” He crossed his arms as he said it, he couldn’t help the hint of defensiveness in his tone. He rolled his eyes as he noticed that Tim had a hand on his panic button.

“When you say it’s messing with the pits…?”

“I'm fine,” He huffed. “It’s more like a humming, greenish feeling.”

Tim hummed as he typed the symptoms into his computer. Taking notes just in case. As he finished he moved a little closer to his brother.

“Still, why don’t I take a look at your helmet. It could be nothing but you could’ve been hacked.” He gestured for Jason to pass him the helmet. He raised his brow however, as Jason took a step back defensively.

“No way! I won’t be able to figure out what the noise is if I can’t hear it.”

“That’s the point Jason,” Tim rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what’s causing this. What if Ra’s or someone has a way to induce an episode of madness in people affected by the pits? It could be mind control. It might be nothing. Just let me listen to your coms and I’ll see if I can hear it.” He held out his hand again.

Jason huffed as he thought it over. Letting his brother check wasn’t going to hurt anything, especially since the chirps had gone silent for some reason.

He scowled as the thought crossed his mind. Why was he so freaked out that the noise was gone?

Time watched as Jason tensed up before sagging and taking off his helmet. He took it from his brother's reluctant hands and quickly started a scan. He was so focused that he almost didn't notice as Jason's head snapped up. He quickly took more notice as the green sheen beneath his mask seemed to turn into a bright glow. The expression on his brother's face wasn't encouraging either. Panic and rage were crossing his face in equal intervals. He ducked behind an AC unit as Hood started looking around. Like hell he'd be getting near him like this, he'd already had one pit accident with Jason. He had the scars to prove it too.

He quickly pressed his panic button as a horrible thought occurred to him.

There's no way for the sound to be affecting Jason without the helmet if it'd been coming through the coms. If he was right, then the helmet had probably been filtering the noise. If he could just get him to put the helmet ba-

"Chirp!"

He cut his thought off as he heard a weird noise.

"Chirp!"

He scrunched his nose as he heard it again.

Was-? Was Jason chirping? Like a bird?

"Red, what's going on?!" Nightwing's voice came across his com as he watched Jason frantically call out with his weird noises. Honestly, how was he even making them, his mouth wasn't opening!

"We've got a green eyed situation with Hood, possible mind control, heavy emotional influence. Cause undetermined. Hood was talking about a weird noise earlier and now he's making odd noises."

"Copy that. Back up is four minutes away, is he hostile?"

"So far, no. He's just standing there. Menacingly."

"Red."

"I'm being serious B! All he's doing is making weird noises and looking around. It's like he's using echolocation or something." Tim watched closer as Hood let out an even louder chirp before tilting his head like he was listening. Could he really be hearing it echo back to him? There's an echo for sure but to a regular human the feedback wouldn't give them much information. What could he be listening to then? Tim isn't hearing anything unless...!

"Guy’s, it's possible the noises are a form of communication. He acts like he's listening for some type of feedback." He watched as Jason's expression suddenly changed to determined.

"Shit! He's on the move. I'm following at a distance."

"Alright Red, don't let him notice you. I’ve got eyes on you." Bab chimed in. Tim cringed at the thought of getting in Hood's way right now. Based on past experience with the expression on his face, someone was getting hurt tonight.

“Red Robin, update.” Batman said gruffly.

“He’s crossing over into the Upper East Side.” Tim had been reporting to the bats as he followed Jason. They’d been patrolling towards the North docks so he’s guessing it’d taken them maybe ten minutes to get to the river. Where the hell was that backup?

Jason had been going in the same general direction since he took off. His movements were almost mechanical as he would go in a direction for a while, stop and chirp like a bird, listen for a second, then take off again.

He was so never letting him live this down. He’d already gotten Babs to duplicate all the footage and audio from his mask cam. He spotted a flash of purple to his right. He shook his head as he pressed his com button.

“Where the hell you been, loca?”

“Had to make a pit stop and grab BB, Red. Couldn’t leave her out of all the fun!”

Tim scanned his surroundings a little better and was rewarded with a flash of black slightly to the left and ahead of him. He couldn’t help but relax a little as he did, if Cass was here the chances of everything working out easily doubled. He might also be a little biased when it came to his favorite sibling though.

He grinned as he sped up a little. The wit and teasing of Steph along with Cass’s short hand signs was a welcome change to his anxiety over Jason’s situation. As long as they could stay with him tonight and snap him out of it everything would be okay.

Sadly, his upbeat mood plummeted as Jason suddenly changed directions. He was heading towards Robinson Park.

“We need to intercept him, he’s heading to the park.” Batman made a small disapproving noise over the coms. He could hear the Batmobile roaring in the background, he could tell just from the noise he was going as fast as he could to catch up with them.

“ETA is 2 minutes, do you think you can hold him off?”

He shared some quick glances with Cass and Steph.

“Take your time B, we can handle him.”

#dc x dp #batpham

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ghuleh-recs · 6 months ago

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It was @forlorn-crows birthday like a month ago!! And I fuckin missed it! Jail for Liss. Jail for 1000 years. Better late than never, I guess. Crow is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and I threw together a greatest hits rec list for the occasion! They are the mastermind behind Mushy May and the verrrry iconic Lake Wife™. On top of being incredibly talented, Crow is always so lovely and kind and supportive of their fellow creatives. Wouldn't it be a lovely (belated) bday gift if you left some comments/kudos on some of these? Maybe even stop by Crow's ko-fi while you're at it!

Lady of the Lake - Rain/Lake Wife™ - E, 11.6k

With all the dark magick flowing through the abbey, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of it leached into the surrounding area. Mountain’s told him all about the various creatures he’s seen on the edges of the forest: dark, shadowy things that live in the corners of one’s vision, flitting between downed trees and swaying ferns. They’re relatively peaceful entities that don’t seem to bother ghouls, humans, or other animals much. But their presence certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed. That same looming magick resides at the bottom of the lake. Something deep and ominous. Something big. Rain can’t make head nor tail of the sentient something that must live down there. He’s felt it most recently in the new beginnings of spring: big waves of living energy reaching out to him, calling to something buried deep in his ribcage. A creature reaching out to their kin. He supposes it could be a byproduct of the changing seasons, the rush of life seeping through the cracks in the thawing ice. But the feeling in his gut tells him it’s something more than that.

First and Fierce Affirming Sight - Mountain & Copia - G, 1.1k

Once in a blue moon he’ll retreat deep into the forest beyond the abbey to give himself a break from his mortal-like form, let that great maw of elemental power unleash and drain itself into the ether. Just once in a great while, to be fully released. Other times, it sneaks up on him like a cloud of darkness, pulling him under slowly. It gives him enough time to stifle it or manage it. If there’s warning signs, there’s time to keep it at bay. But times like these, it comes in the blink of an eye—like a flash of lightning in the middle of the inky-black sky.

Quicksilver - Dewdrop/Rain - T, 1.8k

Sunshine finally gets to braid Dewdrop's hair, but it gives him and Rain ~feelings~. (you have to read the sequel, too.)

And You Know That It Takes Two - Copia/Dewdrop - E, 3.7k

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?” When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

and so it goes - Mountain/Rain - E, 1.6k

Rain hums the melody where the piano would play, glancing down at the ghoul curled around him. His shoulders start to shake, and he sniffles into the water ghoul’s shirt—attempting, but failing, to be silent about his tears. Rain stops. “Mountain, love, what’s wrong?” Immediately he shakes his head at the question, whining quietly. “Hey,” Rain urges, petting back his hair. “I’m here for you, can you try to tell me?” Hurts, Mountain pushes into his mind. “Where does it hurt?” Rain asks gently. The earth ghoul pulls back an arm from around his waist, gesturing to his own chest. Rain can see his face screw up, a silent prayer to stop the oncoming sob that threatens to work its way out of his throat. In here, he says. He points weakly to the side of his head too. And here.

Pull Me In Your Waters - Dewdrop/Mist - E, 4.8k

He’s such an innocent, carefree creature—one that has Mist’s fingers itching to touch, to ruin, to defile. Like he’s a mere mortal waiting to be drawn in by her hellish siren’s call. But there’s a budding affection underneath that, too. Call it kin, call it an elemental draw to each other, call it even a mentor-like protection over the fledgling ghoul. Beyond the lust there’s respect, admiration. An urge to simply get to know and raise the ghoul who’s set to take her place. She can’t deny there’s some weird, mothering nature buried deep within the confines of her stoney nature. But it is deep, and right now it’s very much shrouded behind a curtain of curiosity, of hunger.

Compromise - Aeon/Mountain - E, 2.9k

He and Aeon haven’t talked, not really, about where they stand with each other. There hasn’t been time, especially not when he’s constantly plastered to Rain and Swiss’ sides instead. Mountain understands. He does. But the longing for familiarity was too hard to ignore tonight, tugging him to Aeon’s room after a sour night at a local dive bar. or Mountain misses Aether. Who he has is Aeon.

Weigh Your Powers, Tempt The Hours - Aether/Ifrit - E, 2.3k

“You’re so pretty like this, you know that?” Ifrit blushes under his adoring gaze. His shaggy hair falls across his face as he ducks to hide. But Aether’s having none of it, reaching out to guide his head back up with a gentle hand on his chin. “You trust me, right?” “Of course I do. I want—” Ifrit pauses and takes a shaky breath. “Want to be good for you,” he finishes in a small voice, just barely above a whisper. “You’re always good for me, Fritter.” The quintessence ghoul runs the pad of his thumb across the point of his jaw. His voice slips to a lower timbre, slow and rhythmic. “You want to feel good too, don’t you?” Ifrit’s eyes slip closed, body relaxing ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he answers simply, forming the word on his exhale like an unholy confession. “You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

#hot damn it was hard to whittle this list down #sorry it's so late ♡#my fic recs #birthday mixtape #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #nameless ghouls fic #mountain ghoul #nameless ghouls

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frvnkcastles · 1 year ago

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hi bestie i have a fic request if you’re taking them :) one where frank and reader have been seriously dating for a while and they’ve both started to think about marriage but haven’t discussed it together. so i’m thinking frank asks out of the blue after being nervous and acting weird for a couple days, he says something like “i ain’t asking yet, but if i asked you to marry me, would you say yes?”

but if you’re not taking requests or if this doesn’t inspire you, please disregard and have a super nice day!! 🥰🌷🌟

NEVER BE ALONE AGAIN ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: When your friend’s wedding comes up, Frank is convinced he wants one with you.

Warnings: Mentions of loss, mostly just fluff, feminine nicknames

Word count: 2k

Author’s note: This was actually a half-finished fic I had written a few years ago and this request inspired me to adapt it a little bit and finish it :) I hope you like it <3 I would marry this man in a heartbeat.

Ever since your and Frank’s two friends had announced they were getting married, he had been rewinding back to how it had felt for him. The domesticity, the joy of calling his wife, well, his wife; the relief of having someone by his side through thick and thin. That last part still rang true for him — you were his rock as he was yours, and it was for that reason that he reflected upon his first marriage with fondness and nostalgia, instead of the usual misery and regret. It still hurt, but as he watched you fill out the RSVP card and giddily talk about getting to take part in your dear friend’s wedding… yeah, that softened the blow.

In fact, it made him think of something he had long ago given up on. Revived some old dream he had buried, brought back feelings he hadn’t expected to ever feel again. Because of you. And as he watched you sit on the floor in front of him, rambling on about the kind of dress you’d be wearing, he couldn’t help but suppress a smile — not just at the idea of you in that dress, but the fact that you were all his. Awkward rambles and all.

And my God, was he all yours.

The more he thought about gathering up the courage to ask you to marry him, the more nervous he became. He was usually so unwavering and confident, but it was no news that next to the women he loved, he was just a puppy dog. He was far from scary or menacing — he was just a man in love, hoping the woman of his dreams wanted to spend the rest of her days with him the way he did, too.

Still, he had hoped you wouldn’t notice. But apparently, he wasn’t as good at hiding it as he thought.

You first picked up on something on his mind when he was watching you try on your dress for the wedding. You were rambling about the details on the dress when you realized that even for someone quiet, Frank was being exceptionally silent. You looked at him through the mirror, only to find him smiling at you from across the room, dark eyes focused on you yet his attention not quite there.

”Baby?” you spoke up, ”you okay there?”

Clearing his throat, Frank nodded and wiped the lovestruck smile off of his face. ”Just fine, sweetheart. You look really pretty, y’know that? Could stare at you all day”, he noted, making you blush and forget all about the worry embering in your heart.

He was good at deflecting, making you flustered with genuine but calculated compliments, and changing the subject when you tried to poke. But as endearing as his longing gazes could be, you noticed he got quiet when you showed him pictures of your friend’s wedding ring, and again when you decided to get in the right mood by watching your favorite rom-com.

Finally, when you were listening to the playlist your friend had sent over, and Frank seemed to grow uncomfortable yet again, you decided to be brave and approach the subject head-on.

”Hey, you know you don’t have to come with me, right?” you pointed out, and with his eyebrows drawn together, Frank looked over to you from across the couch where you were both seated.

”You don’t want me to?” he questioned, seeming a little dejected, so you rushed to grab his hand.

”I want you there. But I can tell this might be a little much for you, and it’s no wonder. It’s okay to be sad, my love. Don’t push yourself too hard, okay?” you pleaded, and with an affectionate smile breaking on his face, Frank pulled you in so he could kiss your temple.

”It ain’t that, I promise. Sure, it’s, uh… a reminder, I s’pose. But right now, ’m just feelin’ real lucky to be here with you, aight?” he reassured you, and even though you seemed hesitant to believe him, you nodded.

”I want to be there with you”, Frank added.

And indeed, when the day of the wedding arrived, you were the only thing in his sights. You looked breathtaking in the lilac dress and he made sure you knew — and when you returned the compliment at his suit with a cheeky joke, his heart made a somersault in his chest. You were radiating with joy and love all day long, yet at the same time you had taken on so much responsibility to ensure your friend would have a smooth celebration, and that all the guests would feel at home. You were a natural and it warmed Frank’s heart even when you rejected his help with a kiss and told him to get a drink.

That was what he did, his gaze still stuck on you as you danced with one of your mutual friends’ kids across the venue. A soft smile tugged on his lips as he watched you shed the jacket he had given you so you could move easier, your laugh easy to pick out even through the music and chatter. You were his whole focus, always.

Chuckling, Frank then finished his beer before striding across the floor and over to you. He’d have to wait until later to make his plan come true, but until then, he was desperate to hold you close to him.

”Mind if I cut in, buddy?” Frank rasped at the little boy you had been twirling around, and although he seemed reluctant, above all he was intimidated by the burly man by your side suddenly. Quick as that, the kids vanished from around you and you couldn’t help but giggle while turning to Frank who instinctively slid his hands across your hips to reel you into his chest.

”It’s mean to scare kids”, you pointed out teasingly, well-aware that children adored him — he was a dad through and through, but there was no doubt that for the sake of stealing you all to himself, he had put a little extra meanness into his stare.

”What can I say, sweetheart”, he whispered into your ear, his smile touching your cheek as he leaned into you, ”I get jealous easily.”

You laughed at that, and it only widened Frank’s grin as he dropped his forehead to yours and swayed side to side with you. You were shorter but you were managing to hold onto his neck, nearly on your tiptoes as he took the lead and moved you across the floor in gentle, tender movements. His firm chest felt like a safe place and his arms around you put a smile on your face — almost as big as the love in your eyes as you shyly beamed up at him.

You couldn’t help but notice him glancing around while you kept dancing, his hands just the slightest bit shaky instead of their steady selves, and a frown deepened your forehead. ”Are you okay, baby? You seem… nervous, again”, you pointed out, and quickly looking back at you, he nodded.

”I’m okay, sweetheart”, he insisted before leaning foreard to kiss your forehead. ”Hey, I love you. With my whole damn heart, you know that? Ain’t no one I’d rather be dancin’ with right now”, he went on, and feeling you tense up in his arms, he emphasized his own words, ”no one.”

You nearly shed a tear at that, and even though they didn’t hold as much meaning coming from you, you returned the sentiment. ”Me either”, you hummed into his chest, ”I love you so much, Frank.”

More than one song passed with him just holding you, thinking of how lucky he was, the occasional careful kiss pressed into your hair while you clung onto him. It was warm and safe and you wouldn’t have changed a thing for the world.

Only when the midnight hours were rolling in, the crowd was beginning to dismantle and the happily new-weds were officially sent off to their honeymoon. As you watched their car drive away with all their loved ones waving them off, you couldn’t help but tear up — in response, Frank took your hand and held it as tight as you needed.

Not much later, people were turning to you to thank for a job well done before leaving in their own rides. Frank could have sworn you were an angel, smiling at each and every one of them and wishing them a safe journey home. Eventually, there was no one left but you and him and the clean-up crew, and just as you faced Frank to tell him your feet were killing you, he interjected by simply standing there.

He was holding a big bouquet of different colored roses in his hands, looking absolutely gorgeous with his dark eyes and white shirt and shy smile as he eyed you up and down. It wasn’t until he was handing over the flowers that you realized it wasn’t a dream, and upon recognizing the bouquet, you gasped.

”Oh no, did she forget—”, you started, wondering if the bride would have loved to have her flowers with her, but cutting you off, Frank shook his head while urging you to take them.

”Nah. It’s for you, sweetheart”, he stated simply, and when you gave him a curious smile, he chuckled. ”She, uh, she let me have it. She was gonna do the whole throwin’ thing, y’know?” he went on, and again, you gasped.

”Oh, I knew we forgot something!” you huffed, and chuckling, Frank scratched the back of his neck.

”No, no, uh… I asked her if I could have it. See, uh, she’d throw the bouquet to see who gets married next, yeah?” he tried explaining, and when you nodded, he broke into a flustered smile. ”Guess I just didn’t wanna take the chance you’d miss”, he finished, and at that, your smile dropped and you glanced between the bridal bouquet and him with disbelief.

”I ain’t askin’ yet… but if I did, would ya say yes?” he continued, fiddling with his hands nervously while waiting to see any reaction on your face. For a second, he wondered if it had been a terrible idea, but then your eyes started welling up and your hand flew to your mouth as you fidgeted and looked at the flowers and then back at Frank whose eyes lit up with excitement and relief.

”You’d really… you’d have me?” you whispered, your voice fragile as you reveled in the fantasy of standing like this with him some day — face to face, you in a dress, him in a suit with flowers in your hands and the moonlight above you.

”Hell yeah, sweetheart. If you’d have me. ’Cause I fuckin’ adore you. More than words can say, but you, uh, you… you make me feel alive. And happy to be alive. I can’t imagine a single day without you”, he sighed, and with a vigorous nod, you leaped forward to wrap your arms around him.

”Yes”, you cried out before pulling back just to kiss him, ”yes now and every day after this one. Whenever you want to do it… my answer will be the same.”

Grinning, Frank hugged you tight and closed his eyes while squeezing you. The two of you rocked back and forth in one another’s arms, silent apart from your sniffles, until you spoke up. ”This explains why you’ve been acting so weird lately. You’d really think the big bad Punisher would be better at staying calm under pressure”, you joked, earning a snort from Frank.

”Hey, this was really fuckin’ important. I wasn’t sure, y’know?” he shrugged while letting go of you enough to cradle your hands in his own and look into your eyes.

”Awww, Frankie”, you smiled up at him, ”you had no reason to be nervous. I’m completely and entirely in love with you.” With love twinkling in his eyes, he leaned into seal the distance between your lips, kissing you deeply. He stole your breath away, as he always did.

”Thank you for always bein’ patient with me. I know it ain’t always easy to be with me… but I hope it’s worth it. I’mma make it my mission to make sure of that”, he swore while resting his forehead against yours, and with another smile, you nodded.

”You’re always worth it, Frank.”

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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shyphonics · 4 months ago

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Salad Days, Chapter 9: Baby, Detonate for Me

(babypunk Rodrick Heffley x reader)

all chapters | playlist

I just want to give a warning for this chapter for mentions of mental health issues, antidepressants, and hospitals. This got weird and I'm sorry lol. My brain went to a dark place and I started thinking about my horrible middle school experience and the years I spent in a pit doing antidepressant roulette. This is also not any sort of anti meds/hospital propaganda, do whatever works for you :)

Anyway, this one's long and kinda sad, but I promise you it's uphill from here. These kids are gonna get their shit together.

9 to 5, they got you where they want you

There's a better life

And you think about it, don't you?

It's a rich man's game

No matter what they call it

And you spend your life putting money in his pocket

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Ben sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, dude! I have to work!” Rodrick insists, trying to step around him to get to the door.

“Ward worked really hard to get us this practice space, we already set up your drums, and you won't even come for just a little while? Call in sick!”

Ward crosses his arms, nodding, hurt in his eyes.

Rodrick thinks. There was a time when he would've blown off just about anything to go practice with his friends, in a real studio space. Now he's not even sure if he remembers how to play.

“All the big local bands practice there. It's, like, a little apartment building with studios! It's awesome! And we got in!” Ward frowns.

“All the big local bands?” Rodrick turns to look at him.

The guys all nod.

Rodrick sneaks around Ben wordlessly, heading towards the door and slipping out. The guys yell in protest as he walks down the hallway, but he doesn't stop. He can't face them, no matter how terrible he feels about all of this. He made this mess, and he has no idea how to fix it.

“That girl emailed you!”

Rodrick freezes. He turns around.

“That's fucking low,” He breathes, pointing towards the open door of the apartment, “Don't fuck with me like that.”

He storms off down the hallway, driving the band van across town, to the plant. He loads up his truck in anger, shoving the cases inside and slamming the door. Maybe he doesn't even want to be in the band anymore. Not with people who will toy with his emotions like that. The guys at the plant suck, but at least they don't need much more from him than “deliver the beer.”

He really does hate hanging out with them, though. He drives fast, the cans and bottles in the back rattling underneath the sound of a mix CD he hasn't listened to since high school. The radio isn't safe right now. Not when the only good station gives him a high chance of hearing you.

He stops at a red light, grunting and gripping the wheel. He didn't think his friends had that in them, to try and trick him like that. Unless they weren't… unless you really…

No. No way. You want nothing to do with him. He shakes himself out of his thoughts, driving through the green light.

He wheels his dolly into a grocery store, head down, until he hears a throat clear.

A man stands before him, holding up a picture. He looks at the picture, then the man, in total confusion.

“Do you know this girl?” The man asks.

Rodrick looks back down, the features slowly coming into view. It's you, without a doubt, but you look… different. Younger, straight laced, maybe a little dead behind the eyes. He squints in confusion, then looks up at the man.

“Why?”

“Why? It's none of your business,” He scoffs, “Do you know her? Do you know where I can find her?”

He eyes the man strangely, not liking the frantic look in his eyes. After everything he's done to you, he's not taking a chance on any weird shit like this. He’s at least not going to make anything worse. He shakes his head.

“Never seen her.” He keeps his face straight.

“Are you sure?” The man pleads.

“100%. I gotta get these cases in, ‘scuse me.” He pushes his dolly around the man.

He feels eyes on him the whole time, hunching over as he wheels into the store. He doesn't like that. He doesn't like it one bit.

Sitting in his truck after the delivery, he feels uneasy.

He sighs, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot. There’s a car right on his ass, some flashy, white BMW. He raises an eyebrow, speeding up a little.

“Just pass me, asshole.” He mumbles, turning up his music.

The white car follows him to all of his deliveries that day, and at the third one, the driver gets out. It’s the guy from the grocery store. Rodrick wants to say something, but he’s not exactly the confrontational type. He decides to just keep an eye on him, for now.

He’ll just end up on the opposite side of town from you, anyway.

I am the girl you know, can't look you in the eye

I am the girl you know, so sick I cannot try

I am the one you want, can't look you in the eye

I am the girl you know, I lie, and lie, and lie

I'm Miss World

Somebody kill me

Kill me, pills

No one cares, my friend

2 weeks. It’s officially been 2 weeks since you’ve seen Rodrick. On top of that, you and one of your best friends are not on speaking terms, and it feels like your dad gets closer to finding you every day. Not to mention that you’ve been alone, cooped up in the house all week. No bar, no radio, only a few horse calls from Mike to drop off groceries and scheme with you.

You lie back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling defeated.

You should’ve known. Should’ve taken Rodrick’s whole “bad boy” schtick as the red flag that it had been. A “bad boy” schtick usually means one thing: coward. You should’ve protected yourself. You laugh, despite yourself, shaking your head. You can feel the crazy coming. It’s always preceded by feelings of rejection. And thoughts of your father. The beast comes out. You know how you are.

Feeling like this makes the memories come out. The bad ones, stored real deep, where you won’t dare dwell on your own.

You have passing memories of the first time you ever heard good music, which is kinda fun, at first.

You were 12, innocently flipping channels, when you’d landed on MTV. Hole, No Doubt, Smashing Pumpkins… whoa.

You’d been so curious, chasing the sound you’d heard that night, that you’d walked down to the mall, to the music store the next day.

“I’m looking for something… I- I saw these people on TV.” You’d looked away from the counter, embarrassed.

“How old are you?” The guy at the counter had smiled, his spiked hair huge, lime green. A thick, silver ring sat in his lip, and his jacket was covered in spikes. He looked like a dangerous disco ball.

“12,” You couldn’t meet his eyes. He’d just been so cool.

You’d left with a stack of CDs, sold on discount. The older boy had given you an ‘introduction pack’, as he’d said.

7 albums that would go on to change your life.

Misfits - Walk Among Us

Ramones - Rocket to Russia

Black Flag - Everything Went Black

Dead Kennedys - Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables

Bad Brains - Bad Brains

Bikini Kill - Revolution Girl Style Now!

The Dead Milkmen - Big Lizard In My Backyard

The music reached you, where nothing else had reached you before.

Especially the basslines- you’d waited ages on dial-up internet to find out who the bassists were. Jerry Only, Dee Dee Ramone, Chuck Dukowski, Klaus Fluoride, Darryl Jenifer, Kathi Wilcox, and Dave Blood, your new heroes.

You laugh a little painfully, remembering the candle you’d lit earlier this year, to commemorate the one year anniversary of Dave Blood’s death. You and Mike had cried at the bar together, listening to surfy basslines like they were funeral hymns.

That summer, you’d begged your parents to let you into a music program.

They’d assumed it would be something classy, you playing chamber music on a violin, but it was a rock band program. Sure, you’d lied. Who cares?

You’d had the time of your life, all decked out in prop leather jackets and Halloween eyeliner. Learning how to play, how to be a band. Togetherness. It had only been a two week program, but you bonded with those guys more than any kid you’d ever met in school.

Your music teacher, Frankie, had awoken you to your own power for the first time.

You were already learning bass- you’d learned all the songs your tween rock band had decided on- but he’d wanted you to be the singer, too. No one else wanted to do it.

He’d placed a folding chair in front of you.

Yell at the chair. He’d said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to say.

I’m sorry, what?

Yell at the chair.

You’d yelled, half heartedly, looking to Frankie for approval.

He’d looked at you, deadpan.

C’mon. I know you can do better than that, Don’t look at me! Scream! You hear me? Scream like a girl!

You yelled, and screamed, as Frankie urged you to think about anything that made you angry.

You’d thought about your recent debilitating period cramps, your mother’s magazine fad diet obsession, and both of your parents’ lament that they could never have another child. As if to insinuate they’d had one shot with you, and you’d better be good, dammit.

You’d yelled until you could completely nail a song that you’d suggested to the group- California Uber Alles. Eerie wails left you until it was like the spirit of Jello Biafra was possessing you himself.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

The final performance came, and your parents looked horrified, a stark contrast to the supportive classic rock dads and lowrider moms, cheering from the audience.

You’d taken center stage, a too-big Fender bass positioned on your hips, and said to the audience, “We! Are! Ne’er Do Wells!”

You’d looked across the stage, the lights bright in your eyes, and god. For the first time in your life, you’d felt like you had some sense of control over yourself. You felt like you had power. The set had been incredible- you’d yelled, and jumped around, even dramatically dropped to your knees, scraping yourself up on the splintery, old wood of the stage. People went crazy for it- well, except for your parents. Your bandmates’ parents and Frankie more than made it up to you. You’d had stars in your eyes. Finally, a beam of hope.

That’s what I wanna do. You’d repeated, over and over, that’s what I wanna do when I grow up.

You were 13 years old the first time you were put on antidepressants.

“I don't know. She's angry, she doesn't listen,” Your mom says, rolling her eyes, “Fix her.”

The doctor doesn't even look up.

He's not even a psychiatrist.

“We can start her on 75mgs of Zoloft,” he scribbles on a sheet, “Standard practice for a girl her age. I'll send it in.”

It's just like that. You're not involved. No one wants to know how you feel.

You think maybe it won't be so bad, but the first dose hits you like a truck. You stand from the couch, and a blast of vertigo sends you flying sideways to the floor.

Your mom looks down at you.

“I guess you can't go to your bass lessons.”

You panic. No, no, no. That's all you have left. Frankie had taken a liking to you, and gave you lessons for free. He’d known your parents hated the music thing, and he took pity on you. Your one safe place.

“No, I can go!”

You stand. You fall. Your mom brings you to your room.

“You should rest.” She closes the door.

You sit on your bed, knees to your chest. You look at the walls, a chaotic collage of magazine cutouts and posters, and are comforted, slightly. Dead Kennedys; 3 regular looking guys, and a screaming, shirtless Jello Biafra. Bikini Kill, solemn in sepia, with dark lipstick and baby tees. Suicidal Tendencies, sitting on a curb in their flannels and Dickies, hat bills flipped up. You try to slow your breathing, your head feeling cloudier and cloudier as a wave of nausea hits. You roll onto your side, coming face to face with a goofy, shirtless pinup of 80s Danzig, trying to look tough. It always makes you laugh. This time, all you can manage is a faint smile. Sleep eventually finds you.

The pills just make everything worse.

You're a zombie, except for brief outbursts of rage. Nearly always directed at your father, but sometimes just when you're alone.

This only angers him more, and your dose is upped.

You float through school, numb and confused, barely even noticing when they make you switch schools.

It's a private school, a tiny series of buildings on the outskirts of town.

Your dad insists such a small school will make you focus, and thrive. It’s some kind of experimental learning style.

All it gets you is the attention of the principal, a meek, older hippie named Dina.

She looks sweet, but soon- you find she's your worst enemy.

Every little thing you do is under scrutiny. She pulls you aside in the short hallway, nearly every day, demanding to know what you'd lied about.

“I haven't lied about anything!”

“That's not what your dad told me.”

She keeps you there for whole class periods. Your grades suffer. Your dad is pissed.

She slowly breaks you down, more and more as months go by. Even when you think things have been going well- you've been pretending to be happy, talking to people, engaging in class- it doesn't stop. She's relentless.

Eventually, a breaking point comes.

You've been working on oral reports, you've spent months on them. You're a nervous wreck. Sitting at your desk fidgeting and twitching. You can feel the bags under your eyes, and your dry lips are chewed to the point of bleeding.

Dina makes you go first.

Your blood boils.

She knows. She can see you. Why does it have to be you first?

Finally, you stand.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You shriek, the built up rage of nearly a year evident in your voice, “Why? Why? Why, Dina?”

She stares at you, not shocked, but something like a smirk on her face.

The students around you are stunned.

“Oh, right, because you hate me! You're always on my fucking case about shit I didn't even do!”

“I'm just trying to help prepare you for the real world.” She smiles, her voice cold, “They won't care if you're a little tired in college.”

“A little tired?” Your voice grows quiet, breaking, “I'm not a little tired, I am drugged out of my fucking mind and under constant suspicion from every single person in my life!”

People stare as you cross the room, looking at her eye to eye, your fists clenched.

“Fuck you.” Your voice comes out low and shaky.

You shoulder the classroom door open and leave the school, stumbling down the sides of busy streets, no final destination in mind.

You have passing thoughts of jumping in front of a truck, the option seeming better and better as you grow exhausted, collapsing on your knees in a dirt lot.

Then you hear the ambulance.

And that marks the start of your first visit to the psych ward.

White, sterile cinder block walls. Tiny little window to the outside. It's like you're in prison.

A woman enters your room, smiling. You manage a smile back. They've got you detoxing off the antidepressants, to get a better scope of what's actually wrong with you.

“Hi, I'm Dr. Parks. You can call me Marie, though.”

The doctor has a kind face, calm eyes, pink lips, and a freckled nose. Her hair hangs in soft, brown curls.

“What were your symptoms before you started Zoloft?” She asks.

“Well… I didn't really have any. I didn't have any symptoms until I started taking it.”

“What?” She asks, after a pause.

“I guess I got a little sad or angry sometimes, but it wasn't that bad. I thought that was normal. But maybe I'm wrong.” You look down, doubting yourself.

You hear Marie arguing with a man outside of your door.

Her dad says she's out of control!

She seems perfectly normal!

You don’t even know what you’re on now. Three different pills a day, and your mom watches you like a hawk when you take them. You’re on edge constantly, feeling like any little thing you could possibly do will land you in more trouble. You feel like a stranger in your own body, like you’re dreaming everywhere you go. You’ve lost all autonomy, all awareness. Is this normal? Is this what life is supposed to be like?

The corners are all that remains of your old, glorious poster collage. Your dad has ripped everything down by the time you got home.

You miss goofy, shirtless Danzig.

You miss being able to trust your own thoughts.

You miss feeling alive.

They can't make things worse for me, sometimes I'd rather die

They can tell me lots of things, but I can't see eye to eye

I know they know the way I think, I know they always will

But someday I'm gonna change my mind, sometimes I'd rather kill

Bloodstains, speed kills

Fast cars, cheap thrills

Rich girls, fine wine

I've lost my sense, I've lost control, I've lost my mind

“Rodrick!”

A girl's voice. A wasted girl’s voice. He turns around.

Heather stumbles towards him, picking blonde hairs out of her lipgloss.

“Rodrick, hey,”

He feels his whole body stiffen as she approaches, and her hand lands on his shoulder.

“Can I talk to you?”

“No.” He shrugs out of her touch.

“We can go somewhere private, let's go to my place.”

“No.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Okay, well I guess I'll just drive home like this, or maybe I'll be safe and walk, and get kidnapped or something.” She throws her hands out to the sides, wobbling slightly.

“Ricky, are you fuckin’ crazy?” Buck whispers.

“What?” Rodrick turns.

“If you don't take her home, I think I might,” he laughs.

Rodrick wrinkles his nose.

“Buck, she's wasted. And half your fucking age.”

“What, like that's a bad thing?” He looks around at the group. Everyone laughs. Rodrick feels a pit in his stomach.

It hits him. They're disgusting. All of them. Why is he even here?

“Fuck you, Buck, I quit,” He stands up, not waiting for a reaction, “Heather, give me your keys.”

Heather grins, smug.

She walks out, clinging to him, and he helps her into her passenger seat. Her red convertible is stupidly nice, and he's afraid to mess up the leather seats just by sitting down.

“Blue sorority house on campus,”

Rodrick nods, pulling out of the parking lot. They drive in silence.

The house is empty, and he helps Heather onto a white sofa.

“Will you at least sit down?” She sighs.

“We don't have anything to talk about, Heather.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. She scoffs.

“My boyfriend's got the cops on his ass because of you.”

“How is it because of me?” He gives up, sitting on the opposite side of the couch.

“Whatever. Either way, he's probably gonna go to jail.” She rolls her eyes, scooting closer to him.

“Uh-huh,” Rodrick moves until he's right against the arm of the couch.

“But he was kind of a bad boyfriend anyway.”

Rodrick is silent, looking at her. Searching her blue eyes. She looks part drunk, part sad, part… smug, maybe?

“And, y'know, it's got me thinking,” she puts her hand on his chest. Rodrick’s heartbeat skyrockets, “Maybe I should've… given certain people a chance.”

“Heather,” he looks down at her, breathing heavily as she combs her fingers over the fabric of his shirt, “Don't. C'mon.”

“Why not?” She pouts.

“You're… you're drunk. And I think nothing ever happened between us for a reason, I mean… I don't even feel anything for you anymore. You made my life hell after the party. And after we graduated.”

Her hand grips the front of his shirt, knuckles white. He stares down at it, eyes wide.

Then her face is right in front of his, and before he can stop it, her lips are on his, and it feels… oh, god, it feels wrong.

He pushes her off and stands up.

“Heather, no. It's not gonna happen.”

She sneers up at him.

“Fine, then leave.”

“I've wanted to leave this whole time!”

“Then go!” She yells.

He stands outside the door, breathing fast, fists clenched.

After all that time, it finally happened. And it was awful. He curses, kicking a piece of gravel across the street as he starts walking back to the bar. It takes a while, but he gets there, not bothering to go back inside. He spots Caitlin outside, on her smoke break.

“I’m glad you quit,” She laughs, a bitter sound, “Fuck those guys. I’m gonna miss you, though.”

“Thanks,” He sighs, looking down, holding the door of the truck open. “You should see about getting a job downtown. Don’t put up with them anymore, y’know?”

She smiles, taking a long drag.

“Yeah. Yeah, I should. I’ll work on it. See you around?”

“We’ll see.” Rodrick smiles softly, opening the door of the van.

He gets home to a dark, empty apartment. He should’ve gotten the address of that practice space. He feels bad for how he left this morning, even if they did hit him a little below the belt.

Unless they didn’t.

Rodrick eyes his laptop, his hands hovering over it, his mind flipping rapidly back and forth between open it and don’t fucking open it!

He opens it, and there it is, plain as day. World’s best bartender.

His eyes scan the page, mouth falling open in disbelief.

I assume the ship has sailed.

Dick move.

You probably don’t care anyway.

Rodrick’s heart drops.

You’d been waiting for him. You hadn’t hated him from the start, but you have to by now. It sure sounds like it. The offer to email back and call seems like a bitter formality now. He might as well just stay in his little shame bubble.

He’d hurt you.

He’s done stupid things before, lots of them, but he’s never hurt someone like this. It feels horrible, and here he’d been thinking it was all for your benefit.

He slowly closes the laptop, curling onto his side on the couch. This time, he lets himself cry. Without the shame, without the frustration. He just cries, until his eyes are dry, and he’s a lump on the couch.

He remembers the guy at the grocery store, and then the line from your email. Bonnie Forester…

I can’t answer mystery numbers right now.

He shifts to lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, troubled. Are you in hiding or something? Who the hell was that guy?

He takes out his phone, and nobody has tried to get in contact with him all day.

Well, except his mom, who sent him a low resolution image of a kitten in a tree, with the text: hang in there! He rolls his eyes, but sends her a thanks, mom.

At least he has someone.

He decides to do something possibly stupid. He scrolls down to your number, saved as your name with several question marks afterwards. He debates for a while, thinking very carefully about what to say. He finally dials, and hears Bonnie's voicemail once again. Beep.

“Hey, um…” He sighs, cringing, “If this is… Bonnie… I'm sorry. Just in case, though, it's- it's Rodrick. I got your email. I'm so fucking sorry. I know you probably don't want to hear from me, like, ever again. I'm really, really sorry, and I’ll give you an explanation and a real apology sometime if you feel like listening to one. I just thought you should know there's some older guy showing pictures of you outside the grocery store on 4th, asking where he can find you? I don't know. It was really weird, and I told him I'd never seen you before. I figured it’s better safe than sorry.”

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners.

“I'm just so sorry for what happened to the bar, and I know you hate me, I just… I miss you so much. Fuck-” As he's trying to hit the key to start the message over, his dumb fingers hit the one to confirm it instead. Shit, shit, shit. That was way too much. He stares at his phone in shock, like it's betrayed him. He debates just throwing it across the room, but he settles for letting it clatter to the floor.

This almost feels worse than ignoring the problem. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest.

He had to do it, though. He doesn’t want anyone to hurt you any worse than he had.

I wait forever for you

Figure out your problem with me is you

I won’t ever be like you

Ever see right through

High school starts. Public, this time.

You walk through the halls, feeling like a ghost. People look at you, and then quickly away. Nobody talks to you. And can you blame them? You look like a total nutcase. Well, you are, apparently.

Your mother dresses you like a Catholic schoolgirl. Plaid skirts and knee socks, white button downs and stupid little ties.

All of your focus goes into school.

I just have to pass this class. I just have to pass every single class.

You get A’s that your dad wishes were A+’s.

You grow angrier by the day.

Your 16th birthday passes, and nobody notices.

Spring Break comes, and you're actually invited to a party. Well- everyone is. You have one friend at this point, a lanky, unpopular boy named Peter. He's been on ADHD meds since he was in Kindergarten. He understands you in some weird way. He'd told you about the party with great excitement- finally, the two of you had a chance.

You beg your parents to go. To feel normal for a night.

They say no. Of fucking course they do.

You spend spring break at home, studying for finals.

The night of the party comes.

Rage builds. You're wasting your youth in a brain and a body that don't feel like yours. You’re fucking sick of it. You walk to the bathroom.

You find a pair of clippers that your dad uses to touch up his hair. You plug them in, removing the blade cover. They buzz to life.

You take a chunk of your hair off, and your jaw drops in surprise. A huge, bald stripe down the center of your head. You grin, taking off another stripe. And another. And another. Until your head is completely bald. Your hair lies in a pile on the floor.

Your mother had always loved your hair. It was just like hers, she’d said. People could mistake you for sisters.

Not anymore.

You haphazardly shave your eyebrows off for good measure.

You walk downstairs.

Your parents sit in front of the TV, neither watching. Your dad reads a newspaper, and your mom is asleep with an empty wine glass in her hand.

You stand there, staring at your dad.

He blinks at you in surprise, “Good lord- you look awful.”

You don’t say a word. He sighs, his tone staying calm.

“Is this still about that stupid party? You know I just want what’s best for you.”

Your face contorts, and you feel hot tears leaking out of your eyes. You grab his newspaper, and throw it on the ground.

“It's not just the party, and you know it!” Your voice comes out ragged.

“Okay, just calm down-” he starts.

You grab your mom's wine glass and launch it through the TV. You move on a path of destruction, breaking stupid, ugly vases, the glass case for your dad's dumb signed baseball, the “good” china plates in the cabinet.

Your dad tells you to calm down, to stop. He threatens you.

Your mother’s voice is shrill and panicked, “Your hair! What did you do to your hair?”

A scream bubbles out from your throat that won't stop, and you wail until your voice breaks, smashing everything you can get your hands on.

Your dad follows you to the kitchen, and before he can grab you, you take a knife from the block and hold it to your throat.

“Stop.” His voice is still entirely too stern and calm.

You press the tip to the hollow of your throat, raising your eyebrow, your heartbeat loud in your ears. After all that, the biggest outburst of them all, he's still a cold, emotionless asshole.

Your mom tackles you to the ground.

You come to in a room, identical to the one before, in the psych ward.

You sit on the side of the hard cot, bouncing your knees, feeling your eyes twitch, dry tears in hardened streaks on your face.

A woman comes in. You see the light from behind her, shining through her soft curls. She looks like an angel.

“C'mon. Hurry.” She whispers.

This must be some kind of a hallucination, but… the door is open. You follow her.

She sneaks you through the hospital, retrieving the clothes you'd come in with and rushing you out the front doors. You're hurried into the passenger side of a car. You finally get a good look at her.

It's Marie, the doctor, from all those years ago.

“Are you… real?”

She looks at you.

“Yes. You shouldn't be here.”

You just stare at her, feeling dazed.

“Your parents want to have you transferred to a long term facility and put a conservatorship on you once you're 18.”

“What…?”

“When you shouldn't have even been here in the first place.” She huffs, starting the car.

“What does that mean?” you ask, feeling small in the car seat.

“They'll have guardianship over you for your whole life, unless you can prove to a court that you're able to take care of yourself. And you won't be able to if you're on drugs that you don't need to be on.”

You blink at her.

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice shakes.

“Well, where do you want to go?”

You look at her, stunned. You haven't gotten to make a decision for yourself in years.

“I get… to choose?”

“Yeah,” she smiles at you, “I'd hide you at my house, but I've got too many people at home. It would be too hard. Where's somewhere you've always wanted to go?”

You think, New York instantly coming to mind. It's not far, but… you'd get eaten alive. C'mon, think.

You remember seeing flyers here and there, outside of grocery stores, and on telephone poles by the high school, for punk shows.

Always in a town called Port Hanna.

You grin.

“I wanna go to Port Hanna.”

She smiles, and takes a turn that leads to the highway.

Port Hanna is 45 minutes away, and Marie lets you fiddle with the radio.

A station turns from static to a man talking, in a passionate, nasally voice.

“People thought I was crazy. My parents kicked me out when I was 16, and I said, okay, screw you. I'm going where the music is.”

Your ears perk up.

“I got to Oakland, and followed this group of punks onto a bus that went right to San Francisco. Followed ‘em to Mabuhay Gardens. Walked inside with the Xs on my hands, and Dirk Dirksen was calling the guy onstage a cavalcade of insults that I can not repeat on this broadcast. That man was Iggy Pop, and he played a song I had heard many times before. This time was different. This time, it changed me. This is that song.”

A bouncy, simple guitar riff kicks in. The music feels like it’s hugging your ears. You’ve heard it before, but you feel it changing you, too. Tears fall from your eyes uncontrollably as Marie drives.

Honey, gotta strike me blind

Somebody’s gotta save my soul

Baby, penetrate my mind

And I’m the world’s forgotten boy

The one who’s searchin’, searchin’ to destroy

And, honey, I’m the world’s forgotten boy

The one who’s searchin’, only to destroy

Marie pulls up to a motel. She gets the room while you wait in the car. She hands you the key outside the door, an outside entry on a 2-story balcony, and slips a bundle of money into your hand. You embrace her.

“I got you 7 days- I know it’s not enough. Nothing would be enough, but-” She sighs.

“It’s enough. It’s more than enough.” You squeeze her, “I’ll figure something out,”

“Jesus. You’re too young to have to figure something like that out.”

“It’s okay.”

“One more thing,” she pulls away, “If the phone rings, you don’t say hello. You wait until they talk.”

You nod.

“And as the meds wear off, you’re probably going to feel a little weird, but it’s worth it. I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle, after all you’ve been through. Just… please be careful. Call me if you need anything.”

She hands you another slip of paper, with a phone number written down.

You hug her one last time, and she’s gone.

The room is friendly, if dated. A tacky, fruit-patterned comforter covers the bed, with a matching armchair in the corner. The walls are a soft beige, and a tired-sounding air conditioning unit runs under the window. Your head feels freezing- an unfamiliar feeling- and you turn it off. You change out of your hospital clothes into the ones you’d been admitted in, and feel a little better. You click the TV on, sitting in the middle of the bed. Alone- the good kind of alone. You tune in to MTV, a formerly banned channel in your household. You don’t know who’s being interviewed, and you don’t care. You’re just too happy to hear music. To hear people talking about music.

Hello, my dears, Dave Holmes here-

An ad for a pizza joint grabs your attention from by the phone, and your stomach growls. You haven’t had much of an appetite in months, not to mention your mom put the two of you on a different restrictive diet every month or so.

You count the cash Marie had given you, wondering if you could even budget food, and are shocked at the amount. Feeding yourself is definitely in the budget. You’re so happy you could cry.

You use an alias on the phone- Debbie Carlisle- and don’t look too close at the pizza guy when he arrives. As you’re about to close the door, a voice stops you from outside.

“Debbie Carlisle? Is that your stage name?” the man laughs, tall and slender, leaning on the balcony, blowing out a plume of smoke, “Debbie Harry, plus Belinda Carlisle? I like it.”

“No. Yes! Uh… no.” You panic, standing in the doorway. How did he figure it out so fast?

The man turns around. He doesn’t look too much older than you are. A pencil mustache lines his lip, and his hair makes him look like a rooster.

“You look like you’ve been through hell.” He nods at your shaved head.

You’re silent for a few seconds.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“You watchin’ 120 Minutes?” He peers into your open door.

“Yes.”

“Alright, well I won’t bother you too much, then. See ya ‘round, Debbie.” He smirks, ashing his cigarette over the side of the balcony.

You shut your door.

The ending of the memory is bittersweet. Nick took your rejection hard. You don’t know if he’ll ever talk to you again. You sit up on the bed, looking out the window. You’re exhausted. You wipe a tear from your cheek and pull out your cell phone. 1 missed call, and a voicemail. The same number from last week. Strange.

You click on the voicemail, holding the phone up to your ear.

The shock of Rodrick’s voice makes your eyes go wide. You feel yourself go limp, your eyes welling up again.

I’m so fucking sorry.

I’m really, really sorry.

You let your face fall into your hand, your lip trembling. All your anger with him seems to fall away, all the bullshit you’d been telling yourself earlier.

Some older guy showing pictures of you-

Your head snaps up. Nerves take over your body. You sigh with relief that Rodrick had good enough instincts to not give you up.

Your heart warms when he says he misses you.

As much as you sort of hate yourself for it, you miss him, too. You really, really do.

You don’t have it in you to call him back, not right now. You’ll be a blubbering mess. You’d rather see him in person, anyway.

There’s a party tomorrow- a big one- and The Strike re-opens on Saturday. It’ll be your first time out of the house in a week, if everything goes to plan. Maybe, just maybe, his friends will manage to drag him out of the house.

For now, you wait.

Now you’re finally sixteen

And you’re feelin’ old

But they won’t believe

That you’ve got a soul

Whoa-whoa-no

tag list: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam , @stargurl-01

#everything I do in this life I do to spite the real dina #i almost didn't change her name lmao #anyway thanks for reading and sorry lmao #the next chapter has my favorite scene I've written for this #rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick rules #rodrick heffley fanfiction #rodrick heffley fanfic #devon bostick #salad days #my stuff #Spotify

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lilac-hecox · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I love your twin au! I was wondering if I could get some Daniel/Ian with some pining Anthony/one sided Ianthony on the side? The ending is all up to you!

Ian/Daniel + (one sided Ian/Anthony) - Twins

Anthony wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. Anyone on Earth would be weirded out by the fact that their identical twin brother was suddenly dating their best friend. The best friend Anthony has had for years and grew up alongside Anthony and his identical twin Daniel. The best friend that previously spent all his time with Anthony and now spent the majority of the time with Daniel, leaving Anthony feeling like a footnote in his own life. Ian was his best friend. He wasn’t jealous. He was bothered. He missed his best friend. But he wasn’t jealous.

Anthony wakes up late one Saturday afternoon and pads sleepily out into the living room, intent on heading into the kitchen and making himself a bowl of cereal. Instead, he finds Ian and Daniel sitting together on the couch, Daniel’s hand open along Ian’s jaw, the two of them kissing like the world was about to end.

“Come on!” Anthony says, his voice raised, “I just got up.”

The two of them jerk apart, and Ian blinks wide blue eyes at Anthony. His eyes look darker, hazier, and something about them makes Anthony want to shiver. He’s got a flush over his cheeks, pink and stupid.

Daniel turns to look at Anthony, an eyebrow raised and his lips red and shiny.

“Good morning to you too,” he says coolly.

“Can you two please stop acting like animals for, like, two seconds?” Anthony asks, “I lost my damn appetite now.”

Ian clears his throat, “I, uh, actually did come over to hang out with you. You were sleeping so- “

“So, you decided to make out with Daniel in the meantime,” Anthony says, a little bitterly. He crosses his arms across his chest. He’s being childish, he knows, but he can’t stop. What the hell did Ian see in Daniel anyway? Daniel was pretentious. He liked to read, acted like he was too good to watch Pokémon with Ian and Anthony or play Halo or Call of Duty like they used to. He listened to weird music; he wasn’t funny at all. Anthony couldn’t see why Ian liked him as a friend, let alone anything more than that.

When Anthony had first started noticing Daniel flirting with Ian, he hadn’t been worried. Ian was as straight as they come, plus, Ian would never date someone who looked exactly like his best friend. Surely, it would be too weird for him to kiss someone that looked identical to Anthony.

Apparently, he was wrong.

“Stop being a jealous bitch,” Daniel says, rolling his eyes. “Ian really did come to see you. Is it my fault if I capitalize on how lazy you are?”

Daniel furthers his point by linking his and Ian’s hands together, intertwining their fingers.

Anthony sighs, “Whatever. I’ll be in my room.”

He’s aware he’s acting petty, but Anthony can’t help but slam the door shut behind him. Thank God he and Daniel had separate bedrooms. Anthony needed space away from his twin. People always asked him if he and Daniel were best friends, or they assumed that it would be that way, but most of the time Anthony was desperate for space from his twin brother. They used to be close when they were younger. Anthony, painfully shy, and Daniel, more outgoing, it was easy to follow Daniel’s lead and feel confident that someone always had Anthony’s back.

Somewhere around middle school, their dynamic began to change. Daniel started liking new stuff, started making a lot of friends. He asked their mom if she could request that their middle school put them in separate sixth grade classes because Daniel ‘wanted a chance to grow outside of always being with Anthony’. At first, Anthony was hurt, but it was for the best in the long run because being in that other sixth grade class meant that Anthony got to meet Ian, his best friend.

Except now Daniel was trying to take him too.

There’s a knock on the door and Anthony huffs.

One second, two, then a quiet, “Anthony?”

“Yeah, you can come in, Ian.”

The door opens and Ian is there, looking sheepishly at the carpeted floor of Anthony’s bedroom. Ian shuts the door behind him which thank God means that he and Daniel have stopped sucking face long enough for Ian to come talk to him.

“Look,” Ian says, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like seeing me with him and-“

“I don’t care what you do,” Anthony says, turning away from Ian and to his computer. He turns on the monitor, intent on fucking around the Smosh website and ignoring Ian.

Ian sighs from behind him and Anthony hears him pad over to the bed.

“You sure? You really looked like you cared out there.”

Anthony rolls his eyes and spins in his chair, so he is facing Ian.

“Fine, I do care. It’s weird, Ian! It’s weird because he looks just like me! He’s, my brother! He’s a guy! You barely ever want to hang out with me anymore, you would rather spend all your time with my dumb ass brother and you’re my best friend, and I met you first! I’m the whole reason Daniel even knows who you are!”

Anthony spills his guts, all the thoughts he has been keeping pent up, he lets them go on Ian.

Ian blinks, his mouth frowns. Ian shrugs, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Why do you even like him?”

Ian’s eyes show traces of hurt and Anthony ignores that, ignores how it hurts him in exchange.

“I don’t know! He’s smart, and he’s cool, he knows all this shit I’ve never heard of. He makes me laugh...he makes me happy…” Ian says weakly.

Anthony feels like he’s going to throw up, but he can’t (or won’t) pinpoint exactly why.

“Of all the guys to go homo for, you pick my brother…”

Ian is quiet, he smooths out Anthony’s bedspread under him with his palms.

“I’m sorry,” Ian says, and he sounds like he means it.

Guilt pangs through Anthony. God damn, Ian. God damn him and his stupid blue eyes, and his idiotic sad face, and the way that Daniel makes him fucking happy.

Anthony sighs, “I just…guess I’ll have to get used to it or…whatever…” he says weakly.

Ian eyes him like he’s not quite sure how to take that.

“Can you make, like, more of an effort to still hang out with me too or whatever?” Anthony asks, his face flushing at how he’s asking for more time with Ian, scared that it’s the one thing Ian won’t be able to give him.

Ian though, he smiles, and he nods.

“Yeah, man. I have to go and do my daily conditioning run, but I wanted to know if you wanted to walk to the park later and hang out? Fuck around, you know?”

“Just you and me?” Anthony asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, dude,” Ian says with his crooked little smile.

Anthony nods, “Sounds good. Have fun at your run or whatever, don’t get hit by a car.”

Ian laughs, he stands and nods at Anthony, “See you in a bit, dude.”

Anthony nods back, watching Ian go. “See you.”

He ignores how he knows that Ian is going to say goodbye to Daniel before he leaves, that he’ll probably lean up and kiss him, that Daniel will wrap his hands that look just like Anthony’s, around Ian’s waist and kiss him like he needs Ian to breathe.

Maybe he and Daniel really are the same.

Then, Ian is gone, and Daniel is in Anthony’s doorway.

“Get lost,” Anthony mumbles.

“Hey, don’t get pissy at me because you’re jealous.”

Anthony flushes. “I’m not jealous. I’ve had a girlfriend before you did, and my first kiss.”

Daniel rolls his eyes, the same dark brown as Anthony’s. He hates it. It’s like looking in the mirror and hating his reflection.

“I’m talking about you being jealous because it is Ian.”

Anthony feels his cheeks go pink.

“I just don’t like seeing you make out with my best friend.”

Daniel leans against the doorframe. They are nearly identical, but Daniel has hit a minor growth spurt and he’s gained about one inch in height over Anthony. Anthony hates that too.

“And is that because you wish it was you, he was making out with?”

Anthony flushes and crinkles his nose, “Stop,” he says flatly. He doesn’t even want Daniel to broach this topic, “get the hell out of my room.”

“I’m serious. Don’t be fucking jealous because you didn’t have the balls to make a move like I did,” Daniel says, his voice firm, hurtful in the way that only a sibling can be.

Anthony remembers reading something, some stupid thing online that talked about how a sibling knows you better than anyone and because of that, they can hurt you more than anyone else on this planet. He feels that in this moment. He can practically feel the knife leave Daniel’s hand and enter Anthony’s back.

“Shut the fuck up,” Anthony says, louder, standing from his chair.

Daniel watches him with dark eyes, a firm line across his mouth.

“I like Ian, a lot. He likes me. I’m not going to stop seeing him because you fucked up and missed your chance.”

“Get the fuck out, I said!” Anthony shouts at his twin.

Daniel, he relents. He takes a step back, far enough for Anthony to be able to slam the door in his face. He knows the conversation is only over for now. He knows he can’t avoid Daniel when they share a house, a school, when they both have an unhealthy attachment to the same dumb ass, blue-eyed, brown-haired boy.

Anthony goes to his bed and flops down on to the mattress, ignoring the pain in his heart and the hunger in his stomach. He presses his face into his bed, and distantly, like an echo, he can still smell Ian there.

#ianthony #anthony's twin #identical twin au #anthony's twin au #d padilla #smosh fic #smosh fics #anthony's day #anthonys day #Anthony's Day #anthony's day prompts #unrequited love #jealous!anthony #prompts #my writing #I'VE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS SO TY

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the-belle-siblings · 6 months ago

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Caden, go now, show off your mad cool fit to Ivan!

Okay! Okay... here goes...

Caden sucks in a deep breath and then opens the door to Ivan and Misra's home - pretty much his new home.

I HAVE RETURNED

🗿*Ivan walks out of his room and into the living room where Caden is standing. He rubs his eyes a little as if he just woke up from a nap. Ivan yawns, maybe he did just wake up?* Milk toast is sleeping be quie-

🗿'He looks... great. This is where you give people compliments! Tell him he looks nice or something.'

🗿What are you wearing?

🗿'Dammit! It's fine just smooth it over, this is salvageable tell him it looks GOOD!'

🗿'cause it looks alright I guess...

🗿'he's gonna think I hate it....'

You think so? It's honestly pretty comfy, wanna feel?

Caden holds out his sleeve with a grin.

🗿Sure. *He feels the fabric of the sleeve.*

🗿'Wow.. that feels pretty nice. I expected it to feel kinda gross on my fingertips but... it's'

🗿I mean it's alright, I've felt softer.

You have?? What was it?

🗿'Ah shit now I've gotta lie or I'll sound really weird.'

🗿your hair *Ivan actually face palms now*

My..?

It's not easy to see when an abyssal black creature blushes but Ivan could have sworn he saw some sort of faint redness on Caden's face. And he was right, Caden felt like his cheeks were set on fire and his heart pounded in his chest.

🗿just.. kidding?

Since when did you do that?!

🗿uh since always

Nuh uh! You've never been funny!

🗿rude

Says you.

🗿Well at least I'm not a complete and utter idiot!

Well at least I don't have to make up for what I lack through disapproving of others joy!

🗿Fuck off, you loud annoying twit! Nobody has ever even wanted you here! *He clasps a hand over his mouth and bites his lip until he can taste blood.*

I–

Caden's chest hurts, it feels heavy. Suddenly he's gasping for air to no avail. It's like ever fear had swollen up and gotten stuck in his throat. He tries to cough and cough and... he can't do it. He can't breathe.

🗿*He drops the hand from his mouth.* Caden I- I didn't mean it- you're right I- ...Caden?

Caden is hitting himself in the chest, trying to loosen the petals in some kind of way. He then suddenly recalls the universal sign for choking. He assumed doing it would get his point across.

🗿Oh hell- *Ivan goes over to Caden and hits him on the back a few times and then preforms the heimlich maneuver. After some effort Caden is coughing again.*

Caden ends up practically hacking up a donation to red cross and a botanical garden on the floor. He's shaking from the experience, his arms reflexively holding himself.

I'm fine.. I'm fine.. I'm fine...

He repeat mutters through a scratchy and sore throat.

🗿no.. no you're not. *A certain feeling, a newer one he'd only recently labeled as guilt, digs deep into his heart in an unsettling fashion. He can't stop himself, and would rather not stop himself, from hugging Caden. He hadn't done this to anyone other than Misra since he was about 9. But he tried to comfort him, knowing how much of it he caused.*

🗿I'm sorry, Caden... You dug at a sore spot but I still lashed out disproportionately and... I like having you around. I just... I was being cruel. I don't... I don't like being cruel to you I just don't know how to be nice and- it's not your fault. I shouldn't be coming up with excuses, I'm sorry. You have every right to be mad at me and-

..stop.. please just stop it... it doesn't matter if you don't but I really- clears throat - I really care about you. If you want to- If you just wanna use me for my power, that's fine. I'd just ra- clears throat -rather you stop playing make believe and messing with my head...

🗿That's not what I-...

🗿'I guess that's what it looks like. I mean I tell myself that's all I want from him, right? I just keep saying all I want is his power but... I don't care. I genuinely... I genuinely enjoy doing stuff with him and listening to him blabber before he goes to sleep. I like when he sits next to me like it's the expected usual. I like it when he smiles. I like it when he announces himself loudly. I like him. I like him even when he's doing something stupid or kinda gross. I find it endearing even! I've been describing him as tolerable as some sort of cope... it's as if my body reacts to the almost certain rejection by rejecting it all in turn. I hate it but... being kind feels so new and foreign on my tongue I don't... I don't know how. If only, If only he just knew...'

🗿Caden I'm not trying to play with your head or- or use you anymore I just- I happen to- yes, I happen to find enjoyment in your companionship and I... have never really felt that way around someone before...

You've... you've never had a friend before?

🗿No, none like you. None I felt I could be myself around. I apologize deeply for mistreating you I just.. I feel so vulnerable.. I hate it.

Well... I'm not here to take advantage of you when you least expect it. Let's just... put this behind us, okay?

🗿alright... You-... you look rather dashing by the way.

Ha! Thanks! You look good too.

🗿But I haven't changed a thing–?

I know. Uh- anyways! Do you wanna go watch-

🗿*Ivan nods quickly and drags Caden off to his room to watch MLP Our Miniature Horses. His chest didn't feel right, his heart rate felt off but.. he didn’t hate it. Then there was that feverish heat in his cheeks following the compliment... oh no... It's true... he really is falling in love.*

#invincible🗿#caden umbra nati #moonstone #asks

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ventebleck · 1 year ago

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INKTOBER DAY 3: PATH

Running in the cold autumn, my lungs hurt, and my bones ache. I felt the contrast between the coldness of my surroundings hitting my body, with the hot blood of my wounds. I didn't know if I was going to survive, but I wanted to.

I wanted to live.

I could still hear the yelling. I could smell the fire. I could taste the desperation in the voice of the victims, begging to their captors, knowing damn well they were just wasting their breath.

I tried to fight, I tried to protect my people, but it was in vain. I was not strong enough, not fast enough, not brave enough. So I ran.

I knew I was being followed. I knew I did not have much time. My legs were falling me, and sooner or later I would stop, and they would catch me.

I was slower, I was weaker. I needed to think of something.

With the few forces that were left on my body, I sprinted as fast as I could until I found a small river. I jumped across, and kept on running onto the thick forest in front of me.

I lost all my energy quickly after that, and I collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. I expected the barbarians to find me, to hear their weapons, and to feel the cold steel on my skin.

But that never came. As I laid there on the forest ground, trying my best to get my breathing under control, I saw that I was alone. Around me only trees gave me company, and the only sound I could hear was the sound of wind through their leaves.

When I finally got up, I examined my surroundings with more detail. I realised then that the trees surrounded me in a circle—I couldn't see where I came from. The river was not far away, and yet I could not see it or even hear it anymore.

Then I took a step forward, and I froze in fear. When I walked, the trees in front of me disappeared, and new ones appeared behind me, maintaining my body in a perfect circle of vegetation.

I didn't understand what was happening. Was I dead? Was I in purgatory? Did I hit my head when I collapsed on the ground, and I was dreaming all of this?

Even though the space around me before the trees prevented me from seeing further away was fairly large, I started to panic. I felt trapped, confined in a green enclosure.

My adrenaline kicking in, I started running once again. I was changing directions irrationally, feeling like I was going insane.

“Please!” I begged, looking up at the blue sky, “Let me out of here! Anyone!”

I fell on my knees, desperation creeping in. What was better, to die from a gunshot or via starvation? At least the first option was faster, right?

Tears were falling down my cheeks. I felt bleak, desolate, depressed…

Until I wasn't any more. I was still crying, but I felt the sadness stuck in my throat, without being able to express it. My mind was calm, fully alert on my surroundings; It felt like I was forced to feel at peace, not able to express anything else.

What the hell was going on?

The trees in front of me began disappearing, creating a small trail. I got up, the tears still flowing, unable to stop myself as I move forward. As I walked, slowly this time, I could see how the grass began slowly fading into a stone road, that I didn't notice before.

With my mind calm, I could even see faces in the trees. Faces hidden, and not entirely human, but something told me that it was okay, that they were just curious; and against my better judgement, I moved forward.

I don't know for how long I followed that path. I just know that at what point, my tears dried, and this weird, unfamiliar peacefulness faded slowly, until my own calmness took control. It was also dark—I could already see stars and the occasional peek of the moon through the clouds.

During that time, those faces got closer a couple of times, empowered by my compliance, and then I could tell that they were everything but human. Four long limbs, and an even longer body. A smile that never left their face. Long, white hair and big, yellow eyes that, sometimes, were the only thing you could see between the trees.

I believed that they could sense my feelings. When they got closer the first time, not even the powerful feelings of composure could subdue my growing fear, and once I started being afraid, they disappeared, like they weren't there in the first place. Maybe that's why I couldn't see them before.

After a couple more tries, I was calm enough for them to finally get closer. They just looked at me, like they had never seen a human being before. Then, they got back to look at me from the trees once again, their eyes never leaving my side.

I arrived at what it seemed like the end of the path. It just abruptly stopped, and grass continued on like nothing. I felt confused for a moment. Perhaps I should've gone the other way around instead?

Before I could turn the other way, one of those… creatures, got closer. It was bigger, slowly walking towards me, almost slithering. Their limbs reminding me of the hind legs of horses, but without their hooves—It just stopped at one point, like four stump legs.

Once the creature was in front of me, they got their neck down to look into my eyes. Their smile was bigger, with more teeth than the other ones, and I smiled too, feeling more awkward than scared.

When I did that, the creature's smile got even bigger, but this time it felt genuine. The creature then turned around, and started to leave. I noticed how the trees didn't mysteriously move any more. Whatever strange occurrence was happening before no longer applied.

I thought about going back to my village, or whatever was left of it, but I knew that there was nothing or no one left for me there. In the best case scenario, I would find empty streets, and I would have to rebuild the town alone—in the worst case scenario, the barbarians would still be there, and I would be killed on the spot.

The big creature was still moving, all the other ones following it, finally not looking at me. I knew then that they were trying to get me there—that they were guiding me, but to what?

I looked at the ground. The stone path stopped, and in the grass now you could see the stomprints of the creature.

I looked ahead, and I followed them.

#cheesy writing #creative writing #writing #writeblr #writer #on writing #writers on tumblr #inktober #inktober2023 #promptober #october prompts #spooky season!!#october #fall season #fall #path to nowhere #scary #but not really #inktober day 3

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measuredoutinyears · 2 years ago

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hello there! if you’re still open for requests, could you possibly write something about touch-starved ringo with hurt/comfort? no worries if not!! love your fics :)

hi anon! it took me a while, but here's a little something under the cut! It's up on my ao3 as well. I hope what I wrote is what you wanted. as you hadn't specified a pairing, I kept it platonic and wrote some paul & ringo friendship. I hope you like it!

Ringo liked it better when they all used to share rooms. This era of the band's night accommodations suited him much better. Sharing a bed with any of the other three wasn’t so bad either (Ringo secretly relished it). Nor weren’t the few times when they collectively had to pile up in order to try and keep some warmth. Admittedly, none of them got much sleep on nights like these, but. Tonight it isn’t half as cold, and Ringo still isn't likely to fall asleep anytime soon.

Which, if he were to ask his bandmates' opinion, would be deemed stupid. There’s no way they could see what the problem with this hotel room is, like Ringo does.

It is a good hotel room.

There's a good bed right in the middle of it, for starters. John said earlier that the mattress in his own room was divine, that he couldn't wait to pass out on it. Even better, this room isn't cold in the least; on the contrary, the air is pleasantly warm. Ringo only has a short-sleeved t-shirt and pyjama pants on, and no chill forcing him to add another layer. Past him would have been thrilled by this – an actually good hotel. What else could he possibly wish for?

And it’s a hotel he doesn’t have to pay himself – not directly at least – and which is a five-minutes ride away from the concert venue.

A hotel that's littered with soft carpets and which was, indeed, booked just for them.

Ringo tries to feel grateful for what life's giving him.

But he's sad and tired, and he’s feeling – oh, the point is, he's feeling weird tonight.

Weird like when he’d give anything (a nice hotel room) to get a hug. Even a short, barely there one. Just something that’d reassure him enough until morning comes, something that'd allow him to fall asleep with as little intrusive thoughts as possible, lest he's shaken awake by a nightmare within the next few hours.

It seems, though, that a couple nightmares is where he's headed at. That, or no sleep at all.

If Ringo could, he'd leave this forlorn and desolate but warm room, he'd venture across cold corridors, and he'd knock on one of his bandmates' doors.

But that's not what a grown man should do, right? This isn't even nowhere close to what a grown man should be thinking about in the first place. Ringo shrugs, tries no to add guilt on top of the feelings he's going through. He needs to push away these misconstructions. They're wrong, he got told that

Ringo takes a deep breath. That's when he notices how weirdly he's standing. It's simple: he's been holding his own hand for god knows how long.

It's just him with himself. Holding hands – but it’s no use, it’s no making him feel better in the least. His hands are desperately warm, not even cold.

He doesn’t need the cuddle pile anymore. Exit the Beatle sandwich and his friends’ groans of annoyance amidst gentle snoring.

Ringo doesn't need anything, because this well-furnished hotel room has everything he should need.

Yet it’s not enough. Without thinking, Ringo takes a step forward before stilling with one foot mid-air. What is he doing? He can't go beg for a hug.

His knuckles are white, the blood gone because of how tight his grip on his own hands is.

Somewhere, in the back of his throat, Ringo feels like crying. He won't, but he could – it would be so easy to give in. Everyone feels like crying sometimes, he reasons himself. So, sometimes he cries, sometimes he doesn't. The possibility is right there.

Except that, once more, there's no reason for crying. The travel went well. The show was as good as can be when your bloody fans love you too much to listen to your music. There was no argument between him and any of his bandmates, nothing to mention from the crew around them.

And this hell of a hotel room is beyond reproach.

There's a knock on his door. It's so unexpected that Ringo just gapes at it for a second, until he gathers himself and answers.

“Come in! It's open.”

“You shouldn't leave your door open like this, you know?” Paul says he gets in.

Ringo shrugs.

As someone who's aching for a hug, he isn't going to lock the door. Nope. He’s not going to tell Paul that either.

“The hotel's empty anyway,” he mumbles, but Paul isn't interested in his answer anymore.

“What are you doing?”

Ringo blinks. Not only does he look like he's trying to demonstrate what shaking hands is, but he's also standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“How long have you been standing there?” Paul asks, perceptive and unrelenting. “You look like you've been caught.”

“Guess I just zoned out,” Ringo shrugs again.

Paul, bless him, lets it slide.

“Can I stay with you for a while? I tried John on my way here, but I think he's asleep. And George cursed at me when I knocked on his door. I think he's writing a song.”

Ringo considers his words. Anyone else would conclude that he was only Paul’s third choice. But Ringo noticed the apologetic tone that sometimes makes Paul's voice feel softer. Especially in the middle of the night. Paul is assuming he's disturbing Ringo's plans, whatever they were.

“You’re fine, you can stay,” Ringo says with a small smile that doesn't really hide the relief on his face.

It must be blatant really, as Paul picks up on it right away. Ringo sees the way his shoulders relax.

“Alright,” Paul is grinning now, teasing him, “am I supposed to stand in the middle of the room with you?”

“Let’s just–” Ringo looks around them. There's nothing to sit on but a chair that doesn't look quite comfortable (finally, this room does have a flaw) “ –let's just sit on the bed, yeah?”

“Fine with me,” Paul says.

Without more ceremony, his bandmate drops onto the mattress. It squeaks, disturbing the peaceful atmosphere. All it does is make Paul giggle.

“Ritch, come on,” he calls him as he sits up and rests his back against the wooden headboard. “You’re not rooted in that spot, are you?”

But he kind of is, Ringo reflects. He really must have been standing there for longer than he thought. And there's another thing – he doesn't know what he'll be like when he finally moves.

It could be anything, from breaking down in front of Paul to snapping angrily at him out of frustration. Because he really needs a hug, and when he dares move … who knows what will become of him.

Carefully, he joins Paul on the bed. Nothing happens. Ringo wraps his hands around his sides as he sits next to him.

“Everything alright?” Paul raises an eyebrow.

He's eyeing Ringo from the other side of the obvious, too big distance Ringo left between them.

“I told you,” Ringo says patiently. “Yeah.”

He's fine, or at least he's feeling better since Paul came in. There's someone with him. A friend. Sure, Ringo would commit fraud to get a hug, but Paul’s mere presence is already soothing. It quells his worried thoughts.

“Okay,” Paul says, with a look of disbelief, and then he's asking about tomorrow’s program, and what Ringo thought of this and that, little bits from their day which Ringo sometimes remembers and sometimes doesn't.

This is one thing he can say about Paul. Paul knows how to distract Ringo from his thoughts. Whether he's helping consciously or not, it works.

The room isn't too big anymore. It’s decently suited now, with Paul talking quietly, sprawled on the bed now as he sometimes moves his hands above his head for added emphasis.

They've turned off the big lamp and only kept the smaller one on Paul’s side of the bed. After some time, tiredness combined to the soft lighting causes Ringo to yawn.

“Oh, so you think I’m boring now?” Paul asks, interrupting himself in the middle of a very long rant about the true meaning behind these song lyrics that he hasn't even written yet. The cheek of this man.

“’m just sleepy.”

“Would you tell me why you were so weird earlier?”

“Mm? Oh, yeah. I was ... feeling off. It's gone now, though,” Ringo says.

His eyes are closing by themselves.

“Thanks to me?” Paul clarifies.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Ringo retorts, failing to stifle the yawn that makes his words barely understandable.

“I’ll let you sleep, I think we both need it,” Paul chuckles, “but I’ll stay here with you. Just to make sure you don't feel off again.”

Ringo isn't sure whether he manages to mutter a thank you before passing out. Finally, he's fallen asleep.

What he's certain of, however, is how he feels upon waking up.

Warm, comforted. The opposite from yesterday, thanks to Paul’s late night talk and also to the weight of Paul’s arm across his stomach. They must have shifted in their sleep, Ringo thinks dazedly.

Because, you know. When you sleep on top of the comforter instead of using it ... even in fancy, warm hotel rooms, cuddling your friends is required.

#request #my works #look i'm back and then disappearing again #life is hell haha it's fine #insert burning house meme here #the beatles

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mochimelt · 1 year ago

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Destiny-tober, #2; No Time To Explain

This became a little thing about drinking and stasis instead of the gun, but whatever! wherever my mind leads, I'll follow

“No time to explain!” “Ha, like the gun!” Risk-9 laughed as they stumbled across the road, wrist held tightly by the Awoken before them, their vision swaying as they ran. Hiccups bubbled up their throat, words melding together as they tried to speak. “Come on, I want to show you something!” Ashen smiled weakly, hand holding tightly to their arm. Risk nodded their head and their thoughts swirled like liquid, swishing back and forth like red wine in a tall glass, their head swaying to the same rhythmic pattern.

“Alright, up, up.” Ashen's voice sounded just above them. She took their hand in her own and pulled, Risk's other hand grabbing at the top of the wall and feet kicking to try and fix their balance. Their body rolled over the wall and onto the ceiling, a low groan leaving their throat. “I'm gonna throw up.” “No you won't, Exo's can't throw up.” Risk lurched anyway, arms holding their torso up as they forced breaths through their lungs. Wine threatened to spill out of their head, dragging their thoughts with it, unconsciousness begging for Risk to fall. They shot their head up and sat straight. Couldn't lose those precious thoughts. The rest of the journey was foggy. Risk jumped over walls, crossed rugged ceilings, climbed across pipes. Their freerunning knowledge certainly helped despite their drunken state. Sure, Risk could simply turn off the code that caused them to feel drunk from the alcohol, but that was no fun. What was the point of drinking all those shots if not to get drunk and lose all their memories? No, they'd take the suffering and the stumbling steps if it meant they'd feel this nice. Ashen pulled them through an open window, both their bodies tumbling into the small twin bed against the wall. They laid still for several moments before breaking out into laughter. Risk's chest hurt and their hands dug into their sides. They really should've eaten something earlier. Ashen picked herself up and disappeared into the kitchenette for a minute, returning with her hands full and a smile on her face. “Look what Meredith made for me.” She held out a little shotglass, which Risk took in their hands. It was a deep blue, jagged cuts within giving it a bright shine, frost growing on the ends of their fingertips as they held it. “Are these Stasis shotglasses?” Ashen nodded enthusiastically. She popped the cap off her bottle and threw it somewhere, pouring her drink haphazardly and ignoring how it spilled onto her wooden floors. “Meredith and the Exo Stranger made them. Somehow. I dunno, ask her.” She held the bottle out and Risk took it, pouring a drink for themself. ”All I know is she told me not to tell Zavala. He's not a fan of Stasis thingies in the Tower.“ ”Sounds dumb.“ ”It is.“ ”What's up with Stasis anyway? I barely know what it is.“ Ashen shrugged. She took a moment to down the shot all at once, shaking her head and dropping the cup onto the bed. ”No fuckin' clue. It's cold, it kills our enemies, so who cares!“ ”And why won't it work with me?“ Risk groaned. They held their glass tightly, swirling it around, the liquid spinning the same way their mind did. ”I can control Strand. It's not even that hard.“ One of their hands shot out a thin green needle, string wrapping around the glass Ashen had dropped and pulling it beside them. ”So why won't Stasis work?“ ”I dunno, man.“ Ashen slid down the side of the bed and sat on the ground beside them. ”Shit's weird. Not everyone can control everything that easy. The only bitch who can do all that is this fabled Guardian who's killed literally fucking everybody.” “But not Nezarec!“ Risk raised their glass with a smile, a couple drops of vodka spilling over the edge. ”That was all us baby!“ The two broke out into a laughing fit. Maybe questioning Stasis was better left for the morning.

#melting words #destiny 2 #destinytober23

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softukiyos · 4 years ago

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the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 -- 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it's any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

You couldn't help but laugh, and you glanced over at the camera pointed at you and Minho, with your mutual friend, Han Jisung, directing the operation. Right, both you and Minho would receive a hundred dollars if you participated in his little social experiment about love. Of course, he'd wanted the two of you to do it for free, but neither of you would budge unless there was at least a little bit of monetary incentive. You loved Jisung, you really did, but you weren't going to willingly spend time with Minho unless there was something else to gain.

“Alright, let's get started before the two of you claw at each other's throats like a pair of angry cats,” Jisung clapped his hands together as he stepped out from behind the camera, “I assume the two of you have a basic idea of the experiment?”

“Of course not, Sungie. It's not like you ran through your proposal to me through FaceTime twenty thousand times before presenting it to your professors,” Minho replied with a pleasant smile.

“And it's not like I read through your written proposal double that amount before you had the courage to hand it in,” you supplied with a similarly saccharine expression.

Jisung sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, “Why are the two of you genuinely the nicest people I’ve ever met but somehow turn into demons when you’re together?” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“It’s not too late to get rid of us and find some other test subjects, Sungie,” you called out with a smile, “We know we’re hard to handle.”

“No way. The two of you are perfect for this project, and I’m not going to let either of you slip out of my fingers after I worked so hard to get you two here,” Jisung refused your offer. Clearing his throat, he decided to begin, not wanting to give either of you more time to get hostile.

“Alright, so you’re both familiar with the basics. The experiment will take about one month, and the data will be recorded in these notebooks,” he said, the camera behind him recording his verbal instructions as he walked forward and handed both you and Minho a small, leather bound notebook, “These will serve as your diaries for the duration of the test.”

Minho perused through the empty lined pages with a snort, “What are we supposed to do, write our undying confessions on these pages?”

“You’re going to write your honest feelings about each other. And by honest, I mean really do mean honest. Neither of you are ever going to read what the other person writes about you, so you don’t have to worry about your reputation or whatever,” Jisung explained, “I’ll be extrapolating information from your entries and your entries only.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at Minho as he closed the book and and leaned back in his seat, “So that’s it, right? We date for a month and write down whether we still hate each other after every encounter?”

Jisung threw a weary glare at him, “Theoretically, yes. The purpose of this experiment is to see if the actions of love will foster any actual feelings of love to appear even if there weren’t any in the first place. The two of you will go on dates, leave each other cute notes, anything that you would do with your significant other. And after each of these, you will write down a diary entry about how you feel about that person. At the end of the month, I’ll collect the two notebooks to write my thesis. Any questions?”

You glanced at Minho, who raised a questioning eyebrow at you as if waiting for you to speak first. After a long moment of palpable silence, your lips curved into a smile, “A bold move of you to find the two people least likely to develop feelings for each other, Sungie.”

Jisung dropped his psychology major professionalism for a moment and smirked, “You know I never half-ass anything. So no questions?”

Minho raised his hand obnoxiously, speaking before Jisung even bothered to call on him, “What happens if one of us falls for the other? Do we win something?”

“No, you competitive little shit. No one is winning or losing anything. This experiment is just to document the progression of romantic feelings or lack thereof,” Jisung glared at his best friend, “You’re not trying to prevent yourself from changing your feelings about the person one way or the other, got it?”

But Minho was no longer paying attention to him, his annoyingly beautiful smile now aimed at you across the table, “You’re going to fall in love with me so quickly, Sungie’s little experiment will be over in a week.”

Your competitive edged roared to life at the provocation, and you smirked, flipping the pen around your fingers, “Your diary is going to be filled with love letters to me once I’m through with you.”

“Oh dear,” Jisung groaned to himself as he walked over to shut off the camera, a weary expression visible on his face.

This was going to be a very long month.

You never once thought there would come a day that you would walk out of your apartment to see Minho waiting for you, nonchalantly leaning against his blood red accented motorcycle and his famous leather jacket.

“What is this?” You asked suspiciously, as if poking at his intentions with a ten foot pole.

Minho rolled his eyes, “I'm taking you to class? Why else would I have dragged myself out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“You're taking me to class on this?” You gestured toward the motorcycle with a hint of disdain, but Minho saw right through you, his lips curling in a smug smile.

“There's no need to be scared, baby,” he sauntered towards you and patted your head, “I'll always protect you.”

Scowling, you swatted his hand away, “Don't do that. It's so weird,” you huffed, fixing your hair.

“You know that's the point of this whole damn thing, right?” Minho said with a hint of annoyance as he felt churlishly irritated by your constant resistance. Did you really hate him that much?

“No, the point is to do these actions in a genuine and heartfelt manner. Everything you say is fake,” you said plainly, looking him straight in the eye.

Minho couldn't help but scoff, “How is it supposed to be genuine when I don't feel anything for you?”

“You start off with basic friendship. That's not as hard, right?” You said as you reached into your large bag and pulled out a container of milk bread, “Here. This is my Day 1 gift for you.”

Minho’s face went slack as he took the container gingerly, treating it like a live explosive, “You made this?”

“Yeah, made two loaves last night,” you answered, surprised by the sudden softness in his tone. Okay, this was awkward, and you couldn't help but cringe as you extended your hand, “If you don't like it, I can take it back—”

“Hell no,” Minho yanked his arms away from yours and pulled the plastic container to his chest defensively, “You gave it to me, so it's mine!”

You blinked in surprise, your hand falling to your side, “I see,” you said before shifting on your heels and nodding, “Okay, I'll see you later, whenever that is,” you took the chance for a quick escape, turning and beginning to walk to class.

“Wait.”

A gasp left your lips as Minho grabbed your wrist, making you turn back around to face him, “I have a helmet for you, okay? And I'll drive slower,” he muttered, his eyes trained on the floor and darting around anxiously, “I won't get you hurt, I promise."

You studied him carefully, his tone of voice, his posture, anything that would give away some hidden agenda, but there was none. Looking down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you relented, "Alright, I'll go with you."

Minho nodded, leading you over to his motorcycle and grabbing the extra helmet from behind. Before you could take it from him, he moved it out of your grasp, "Have you ever even used a motorcycle helmet before? If you put it on wrong, it's not going to do you any good," he said snappishly as he adjusted a few of the straps and fitted it onto your head.

Unconsciously, you held your breath as he leaned towards you, slipping a finger between the strap and your chin before snapping it shut, "It's not too tight, yeah?" he asked as he pulled away, and you could only shake your head mutely, "Good."

Swinging a leg over, he climbed onto his motorcycle, easily putting his own helmet on before turning to look at you as he pushed up the visor, "Here. Climb on behind me."

You eyed the motorcycle with a hint of disdain as you approached it, “And what am I supposed to hold onto so I don’t fall to my untimely death?” You asked dryly.

Unfortunately, that was the wrong question to ask, and the gleam apparent in Minho’s eyes told you that, despite his surprising show of kindness, Lee Minho was still Lee Minho, and Lee Minho was a fucking asshole.

“Why, you hold onto me, of course,” he said pleasantly, “Unless, you’d rather fall off the bike and shatter your bones. The other option is to walk, but seeing that it’s almost 8:30 already, you’d probably end up being late.”

Clenching your jaw so hard you were sure it was going to be sore for days, you stalked over to the motorcycle and swung your leg over it, climbing on haphazardly. You’ve seen the movies; you knew how you were supposed to ride a motorcycle from behind, and your arms tentatively wrapped around Minho’s midriff, avoiding as much bodily contact as possible.

Minho snorted, “You know, if you hold on like that, you’re gonna fall off anyways.”

“Mind your own business--fuck!” A squeak left your lips as Minho suddenly revved the engine and the motorcycle lurched forward. Out of pure instinct, your arms tightened around him, and you buried your face in his back. The time could not have been more perfect, and you felt a rush of anger as you realized that he was just messing with you, “Don’t fucking do that!”

The asshole just laughed, “Aw, come on, I wouldn’t have done it for real. But you seriously need to hold on, okay?”

You huffed, scowling underneath the helmet as you kept your arms locked around his waist, begrudgingly learning your lesson, “Just drive.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Minho revved the engine again and started the journey, albeit with a much smoother start as the two of you began to speed down the street and towards the literature building.

When you arrived at your destination with Minho pulling up right to the front of the building, you were practically squeezing him like a life-sized plushie, your eyes squeezed shut and your face smushed into his leather jacket.

“You can let go now, darling,” he chuckled as he used his foot to push out the kickstand. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you detached from him like two magnets of the same pole, getting off the motorcycle.

“I am--” you gasped for breath as you yanked off your helmet, “never doing that again.”

Minho laughed as he took the helmet from you and put it in the container at the back of his bike, “Hey, you’re here with five minutes to spare! If anything, you should be thanking me, sweetheart.”

Your glare was frightening as you finally relented with a huff, “I’m grateful for the ride here, but next time, no motorcycle, please.”

“Next time? Who said anything about a next time?” The boy positively giggled as you realized your mistake. Minho never said anything about a next time! What were you thinking? Now, he probably thought you wanted him to take you to school every morning, which was absolutely not the case!

“Oh, whatever!” You snapped, utterly fed up as you threw up your hands in total exasperation and marched up the staircase without so much as a goodbye.

Minho’s smug laughter echoed in your ears as you stepped into the building, “Love you too, sweetheart!”

(name): day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: utterly infuriating. an arrogant, smug, flirtatious little shit that thinks he’s the king of the world. he brought his motorcycle out of the blue to pick me up when he knows i flipped out the last time i rode one with jisung (yes, sungie, i am still mad).

i did get to class early though, because of him, and that’s rare for me. silver linings, i guess.

lee minho: day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: a stuck up little princess as always, whining and complaining about every little thing that doesn’t go her way. shouldn’t she be happy enough that i came to take her to her class? nope, she just kicked up a fuss about it being a motorcycle. did she think i was going to remember when she had a meltdown riding it last time? (it was funny, sungie, don’t mind her.) i barely got so much of a thank you when i got her to the lit building, early, no less.

the milk bread was good, though. maybe i’ll try to convince her to make me another loaf.

ii.

First dates were always weird. First dates were even weirder when you were about to go out with your fake-social-experiment boyfriend that you didn’t even like.

What were you supposed to even wear? Were you supposed to dress to impress (not that Minho would ever be impressed with anything you do)? Or were you supposed to dress like you just rolled out of bed? In the end, you opted for something in between the two extremes, hoping that you weren’t going to face the embarrassment of being over or underdressed.

Luckily, Minho didn’t change his daily look too much for the date, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans, a loose t-shirt, and--of course--the leather jacket he never left home without. At this point, you were honestly convinced that Minho was having some sort of romantic relationship with that jacket.

But what was out of the ordinary was the small bouquet of vibrant carnations that he held in one hand as he browsed his phone with the other. They looked wildly out of place in comparison to the rest of his get up, and the contrast was so amusing to you that you couldn’t help but smile as you walked over to him.

“Are those flowers for me?” You asked sweetly, clicking your heels. Minho glanced up from his phone, his eyes darting up and down, and you knew he was assessing your outfit the way you had assessed his.

“No, these are for my other social experiment girlfriend,” he said with a dry smile, handing them to you, “I heard from Jisung that you hate flowers, so of course I had to get you a bouquet for our special day.”

“Carnations are actually my favorite type of flower, so thank you very much,” you replied, sniffing at the bouquet before glancing around, “Where’s your motorcycle again? In maintenance?”

Minho’s face twitched for a split second before he nodded, “Yeah, I scratched it up real bad. We can just take the bus again.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, but you said nothing more about the topic as the two of you walked to the nearest bus stations. After the first day, you had never seen Minho’s motorcycle again despite the fact that he walks you to your class almost every other day (he skips the days when he has work). What was even more suspicious was that he always had an excuse for not bringing it: he crashed it and it needs maintenance, he forgot to fill the gas tank, Jisung was borrowing it, etc.

They weren’t bad excuses, but it’s been almost a week, and you were beginning to suspect that there was more to the missing motorcycle than he was telling you.

“Who recommended this place?” Minho asked as you took the seat at the station and he leaned against the wall.

“Jisung did, actually,” you laughed a little, pulling out your phone and clicking into the link of the restaurant Jisung had sent you, showing it to Minho.

The boy scrunched his nose with distaste as he glanced at the restaurant images, “Did you really think it was wise to leave our first date in the hands of the man who’s never actually had one successful date before?”

“He said it was a control variable or whatever,” you said, placing your phone back in your purse, “Besides, I checked the reviews, and most of them only had good things to say. Why? Is this not your ideal first date?”

Minho scoffed, lips curling into a smirk, “I don’t really do first dates, sweetheart.”

“Oh? So what do you do?” You asked with a hint of annoyance clear in your tone, “One night stands?”

The boy shrugged, “Mostly. Why put the effort to try and create something concrete when it’ll fall apart soon enough anyway?”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at his words, once again being hit with the realization that you and Minho were as different as people came, “That’s a rather morbid way of looking at things.”

“It’s realistic and it’s safe. That’s all I really need at this moment,” Minho said shortly as his eyes darted down the street, and he pushed himself off the wall, “The bus is here. Let’s go.”

Without stopping to wait for you, he walked to the edge of the sidewalk as the bus pulled up to greet him. There was nothing you could do but silently follow him, wondering what Minho had gone through to adopt such a cynical mindset about love.

“What about you?” Minho asked rather suddenly when the two of you had arrived at the restaurant, settled into your table, and were already waiting for your food to arrive. There had been such a long interval of time between the previous conversation and the current one that you didn’t even process the intention of his question for a long moment.

“I’m sorry?”

Minho bit his lip, and he looked like he was regretting the fact that he couldn’t contain his curiosity, “What are your experiences with first dates?” He asked, resting his elbows on the table, “You have had a few, right?”

With a questioning eyebrow, you swirled the small amount of red wine in your glass, “I’m not quite sure whether your question is a genuine one or just another insult.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Minho asked innocently.

Rolling your eyes, you sipped at your wine before answering, "I've had a few first dates, fewer seconds, and no thirds."

Minho considered your words, "What went wrong? Clashing personalities? Scheduling conflicts?"

You scowled, placing down your glass as you grit your teeth, "You're a nosy little shit, aren't you?"

“Hey,” Minho raised his arms in mock surrender, “if I'm about to be your social experiment boyfriend for a month, I should know what I'm getting into, for my sake and yours.”

Leveling a withered glare at him, you couldn't help but begrudgingly admit that Minho had a point. If the two of you couldn't be honest with each other, this experiment wouldn't work. Like the mastermind had said early on, honesty was a key part of the project. Damn you, Han Jisung.

“Eventually, every man gets annoyed by the fact that they'll always be second in importance,” you finally spoke as you swirl the wine again, “They say they understand, but in the end, they'll never settle for a woman who puts their passions over their relationships. They want attentiveness, constant coddling, constant affection. They want to be nagged, they want me to be the one that messages first, and I'm just not the type.”

For the first time, Minho’s gaze upon you was devoid of arrogance and that giant defensive wall he’d always had up. His expression had turned almost thoughtful in a way, as if he was really looking at you, really trying to see you for who you were, and you couldn’t help but cringe slightly under his stare, smiling bitterly, “Did I scare you off, too?”

Minho seemed to jolt out of whatever daze he was in, a laugh leaving his lips, “Nah, princess, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he chuckled, putting down his wine glass as he spoke again, “It’s not your fault that they felt inferior dating someone that was more driven than them. It’s their loss, honestly.”

“Really?” You failed to hide your surprise, not expecting to find support in someone that was so different from you.

“A relationship isn’t supposed to hinder you from doing the things you love. You’re supposed to do them in tandem and support each other during the process,” Minho said, and as you searched for the punchline, for the part of the conversation where Minho would bark out a scathing laugh and point at your disappointed face, you realized there was none. You suddenly had a strange revelation that you may have misjudged the man sitting across from you.

“If you have such a wise impression about love, why do you never try it out?” You asked softly, studying his expression like always, but you stopped searching for something malicious about him, since the search had been fruitless so far. Now, you were simply curious, slowly trying to learn more about him.

Minho shrugged with a wry smile, “Just because the solution exists in theory doesn't mean it truly exists.”

"You don't think you'll ever find someone like that?" You asked.

"Well, if they're out there somewhere, they haven't shown up in my life yet, so..." Minho trailed off, his expression rather nonchalant at first glance, but you were slowly getting better at reading him. He felt wronged, probably by someone in the past that didn't support his endeavors.

You let the conversation drop as your food finally arrived, and the seriousness of the evening seemed to dissipate as the food took precedence. When the bill was finally paid (the two of you split it after a long discussion), you walked out with your arm looped around Minho's, and despite yourself, you didn't hate it all that much.

“So, we're gonna beat the shit out of Jisung for forcing us to go to such an expensive restaurant, right?” Minho hummed as the two of you walked back to your apartment. You tried not to focus on the fact that Minho hadn't pulled his arm away, keeping you snug against his side.

“I like the way you think,” you laughed, your heels clicking against the ground, “Tell you what, how about the next date, you pick somewhere you normally go to in your free time, and I’ll do the same for the date after. That way, we don’t have to spend an atrocious amount of money unless we want to.”

Minho stopped short, and for a minute, you wondered if you’d overstepped his boundaries. Then, he turned to look at you, a surprised, almost soft, smile on his face.

“You want to see me that much?”

It would’ve been so easy to dismiss his words as sarcastic teasing, like the rest of your conversations have been for the past year that you’ve known each other. But his tone, his expression, it felt almost genuine, like he was pleasantly surprised that you were willingly offering up your own time to spend it with him.

And at that notion, your cheeks felt unnaturally hot as you averted your eyes, “Well, the experiment is supposed to last a month,” you mumbled, finding a very interesting divot in the ground, “What type of social experiment girlfriend would I be if we only went on one date?”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s smile dimmed ever so slightly at the mention of the experiment, but he still felt that weird, fluttery feeling nonetheless. He knew you were probably just too shy to admit anything truthful to his question, and he didn’t fault you for it. It wasn’t like he was being very honest either.

“Well, I rather enjoy our little escapades, so I suppose I can spare a little effort to plan the next date,” Minho said with faux weariness, making you elbow his side playfully.

“I swear, if you drag me to another horror house like you did when we went out with Jisung--”

Minho let out a laugh at the memory, “Didn’t you punch the zombie that jumped out near the end?”

“Not a word.”

“And I think you screamed at one of the ghosts, too?”

You frowned, reaching up and messing up his perfectly styled hair, “Not a word!”

Minho didn’t take any of your threats to heart, teasing you relentlessly about that incident all the way back to your apartment, but to be totally honest, you didn’t mind it all that much.

(name): day 6

action(s): first date (control)

notes: the date wasn’t bad except for the ridiculous pricing. we actually had rather interesting conversations about our interests, outlooks on life, and had a rather heated argument about whether prisoner of azkaban or the order of the phoenix was the best harry potter book.

minho’s nice. i know you’re probably laughing at me as you read this, future jisung. but he’s nice. the flowers he got were really pretty. he’s a good listener, too, and he doesn’t give false comforts. he tells it to me as it is, whether it’s good or bad. i like that about him. he also looked really good for the date, but that’s rather surface level, right? whatever. i hope this is even minutely useful to your project, jisung, bcs it doesn’t feel like it’ll be much help.

lee minho: day 6

action(s): first date

notes: han jisung. the meal was $150 and we both ordered the cheapest things on the menu. fucc you.

the date was alright, though. (name) actually got dressed up for the date, so i felt a little bad. she’s putting more effort into this project than i thought she would, and i don’t know whether its because she genuinely wants to know me better, or if its bcs it’s your project, jisung. (i know she used to like you, it was obvious). whatever. she’s easy to talk to when we’re not at each other’s throats like usual. she makes me feel understood, which is a good feeling i guess.

this absolutely does not mean anything special. it just means that she’s not as stuck up as i thought she was. the bar is still incredibly low.

i wonder where i should take her for our next date. the horror house is tempting, but she’s probably going to get sued if she shows her face there ever again. oh well, i’ll figure it out.

iii.

“Why are we heading towards the direction of the horror house?”

“I promise you, sweetheart, it’s not the horror house,” Minho said for the umpteenth time as the two of you walked down the busy downtown streets together.

You remained suspicious, and as a chill blew towards you, the winter wind seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter, you brought your hands to your mouth, blowing on them in an attempt to get them warm.

Minho let out a dramatic sigh at the sound of your silence, “Do you have any faith in me at all?” He asked, taking one of your hands and lacing your fingers together before shoving it in his coat pocket without faltering for a moment.

He seemed unfazed, oblivious even as the two of you stopped at a crosswalk, but you...your poor heart did a feeble stutter that certainly wasn’t the product of any social experiment. You knew the feeling well enough from your past experiences, and the fact that it emerged right at this moment made you worry.

“What?” Minho’s voice invaded your thoughts as he followed your line of sight to his coat pocket, where your hand was snugly fitted inside his.

You tried your best to salvage what was left of your pride, “Aren’t my hands cold?” You asked weakly, “You don’t have to hold them.”

“Yes, your hands are like fucking ice, that’s why I’m trying to warm one of them up, dummy,” Minho rolled his eyes at your lame question before turning to check on the light to make sure it was still on red, “We’re almost there. The place is cozy, I promise.”

Nodding, you slowly felt your composure return to you, “As long as we get out of this cold, I'd consider it a successful date.”

“Oh dear, you've just ruined my plans for a picnic up in the mountains,” Minho said with a deadpan expression just as the light turned green.

“You're ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there wasn't any bite behind your words anymore, and Minho’s jabs at you had slowly lost that hard edge to them. Could it be possible that the two of you were really warming up to each other?

It was true that the two of you were getting along better, and in tandem, you began to be more present in each other’s lives. Minho still walked you to school on the days that he didn't have work. In return, it's become a normal routine for you to make two loaves of milk bread every other day since Minho always devoured his portion ridiculous quickly.

Not in a romantic way, absolutely not. Both of you would cringe at the very idea. But as tolerant friends, maybe.

“Ah! Here we are,” Minho said pleasantly as he guided you off the busy street into a smaller, quieter alleyway filled with various cafes and antique shops.

“A cafe date?” You smiled, “I didn't know that was your style.”

Minho stopped short at a particular cafe, taking his hand and yours out of his pocket as he reached forward to open the door, “Well, it's not just any cafe.”

You quickly realized exactly what he meant as you walked in, your eyes lighting up with pure elation and joy as you squealed, “It’s a cat cafe!”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s eyes lit up from behind you as he shut the door, keeping the winter cold out of the cozy establishment, “You like cats?” He never knew that about you.

“Like cats? I love them!” You practically gushed as you shrugged off your large coat and Minho signaled for a party of two, greeting a few of the waiters with a suspicious familiarity.

“Do you come here often?” You asked curiously as the two of you found a nice little corner to sit down in, complete with beanbags, blankets, and little wooden surfaces that were meant to serve as tables.

Minho almost didn't need to answer your question, since the moment he sat down, four cats passed over towards him, the sound of gentle meows filling your ears. You didn't think you'd be able to hear anything more sweet, until you were proven wrong when Minho let out a soft giggle, his expression unbelievably fond as he stretched out his hand, petting their heads and scratching their ears.

When had you ever heard Minho giggle? No, not that psychotic little witch giggle he did when he was feeling diabolical. This childish, almost innocent giggle that burst from his lips.

“I come here at least twice a week,” he said as one of the kittens clambered into his lap, “I have three cats back at home with my family, and when I miss them, I come here.”

You nodded, surprised that he was divulging information about him without being prompted, but you didn’t mind it one bit, “That’s nice. I’m sure they miss you, too,” you said, smiling as one of the more curious cats went over to you, sniffing at your hand before pressing their head against your palm.

“I’m sure they do. I was basically their servant,” Minho laughed before turning to you, “Do you have pets?”

“Oh, I wish,” your voice was forlorn and wistful as you began to rub the cat’s belly, feeling a rush of pride as they laid on their side. It was rare for any cat to do such a thing, and you treasured the moment dearly, “I had a kitten when I was very, very young, but they died only a few months after we got them. I haven’t been able to muster the courage to adopt another pet since.”

Minho pouted at the way your voice trailed off, your expression faraway, and he suddenly felt an urge to gift you a kitten right then and there just to make you smile. He was long used to seeing you angry, he was getting used to seeing you when you were at peace and smiling, but he’d never actually seen you look so wistfully sad before.

“Well, you’re always welcome to use my membership card here if you need a break from school,” he offered rather awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the cats so he wouldn’t have to feel the brunt of your expression, which was probably weirded out.

“You’d let me?” You sounded hopeful, giggling to yourself as a cat jumped into your lap, curling up and burrowing against your stomach.

Minho smiled, turning his head to see the way you were coddling the little kitten, stroking her fur with utmost delicacy and with nothing but pure adoration in your eyes. He was suddenly hit with the realization that you were incredibly beautiful, and his brain almost immediately imploded.

Wait, what? Lee Minho?! Who the fuck are you turning into?!

Unaware of his current struggle, you glanced at him when you didn’t receive an answer, and he scrambled to clear his throat, “O-of course,” he said, “You’d get a 15% discount on drinks. Super handy.”

If you noticed his strange behavior, you didn't comment or make a face, only gazing down at the kitten in your lap as you asked teasingly,, “Does this girlfriend benefit only last the month?”

It was a joke, not at all different from the ones both of you made on a daily basis, making jabs at your rather intriguing situation, this one seemed to really hit Minho. What was going to happen when the month ends? Will the two of you go back to hating each other and fighting every moment of the day? Will all these little acts of love, the way you would occasionally drop off a bento box at his dance studio and the way he’d pick you up after your late night classes so he could make sure you were safe, would that all disappear like a dream?

“Hello? Earth to Minho?”

Minho blinked out of his daydream, tilting his head towards you to see you already looking at him with a concerned smile, “Are you alright? You seemed pretty faraway.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just remembered that I have a coding assignment due tonight,” he lied, a light tinge of rouge on his cheeks.

“What?!” you yelped, scaring the cat in your lap as they meowed in discontent, jumping off you, “We should get going then--”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Minho grabbed your arm as you stood up, and with your balance tilted, you fell back onto the beanbag couch, although this time, you were much closer to Minho than you originally were. To stabilize yourself, your hand jutted out to press against his chest, and his breath hitched in his throat.

What sort of black magic was Han Jisung doing to him with this experiment?

“Sorry!” You squeaked out, your embarrassment clearly visible as you tried to push away from him, but Minho kept you close until the two of you were almost cuddling on the beanbag couch.

Minho only hummed, feigning nonchalance even as his heart was doing strange backflips in his chest, “It’s fine. You’re still cold, right? I saw you shivering a bit. You can just sit here,” he said, shrugging off his coat and placing it over your legs.

“I guess...thank you,” you said rather quietly, not trusting your voice to hide the emotions that were raging in your heart: the confusion, the giddiness, the childlike excitement, and the fear, “But what about your assignment--”

“Don’t worry,” he patted your head lightly, “It’s just a simple one. Won’t take more than an hour. I’ll just do it when I get home.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Minho emphasized the last word with a teasing smile, his heart slowly coming to terms with these new, tingling emotions that he was feeling, “I never knew I’d ever experience you babying me.”

Your cheeks grew warm as you smacked his arm, “Shut up!” You complained, bringing his coat up to your face and shielding yourself, “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t flunk out of school!”

“Don’t lie, you’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief only to receive another angry smack on the arm.

“You wish. I don’t fall in love with jerks like you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I am honored by the attention,” he said with a teasing smile as he nudged your shoulder.

Another kitten came to your position, rubbing against your thigh as you petted their little head, “You better be,” you muttered almost to yourself, “After all the bentos I’ve made for you this last week.”

Minho let out a yawn, stretching out his arms and very cautiously wrapping one around your shoulders. To his luck or misfortune, you were too enamored by the kitten to notice, and you curled into his side without much consideration. The poor boy wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to notice and confront him about it, or whether he should be allowed to feel a sense of fondness knowing that you were dropping the defensive walls around your heart with him.

He won’t tell you, but he was truly honored to be cared by you, to experience your worry, your encouragement, and your little acts of love. It came so naturally to you that you probably didn’t even hold any of those actions to any significance, but to him, the one who was always the lone wolf, the one who was always defined by his looks before his personality, it was nice to be truly seen by someone.

Even if it wasn’t going to last.

iv.

Lee Minho was late, and you were going to kick his ass if you didn't happen to be frozen by the time he arrived.

You stood outside of the computer science building awkwardly, trying not to focus on the weird glances from the students walking in and out, all of whom were obviously wondering what a literature freak was doing at the center hub of the sciences. It was absolutely mortifying, and you briefly wondered if Minho ever got such stares while he waited for you outside of your building. If he did, well, you felt slightly more grateful than you did previously.

“Hey! (name), right?”

You looked up with panic in your eyes as you quickly tracked the sound of the voice to one familiar stranger, a particular boy on campus that you never actually ever thought you'd have the opportunity to speak to.

“That's me, and I assume you're Hyunjin,” you said, getting straight past formalities. After all, you weren't really in the mood for chitter-chatter. You were just in the mood for a nice hot chocolate to warm your body.

But unfortunately for you, Hyunjin’s disarming smile was a clear indicator that there were no escape routes plausible, “Wow, no wonder Minho snatched you up quick.”

If you had a tail, it would've bristled at this very moment, “Excuse me?” You asked, keeping your tone decidedly cordial.

Hyunjin’s smile only widened, “What is he like as a boyfriend? Does he treat you well? Or are you just another piece of disposable garbage for him like every other girl he’s fucked?”

The final question shouldn't have fazed you, but it did. Why did the idea of such a thing send your heart into cardiac arrest? Why did it scare you so much, when you knew none of this was real? Wasn't it all just manufactured by the conditions of the experiment?

Your face must've given away more than you thought, because Hyunjin’s cheshire-like grin only widened as he took your vulnerability as a chance, “You don't have to be with him, you know. Don't you think we'd get along a little better—”

“Really fucking low of you to be trying to hit on your friend’s girl,” a hand suddenly snaked around your waist from behind, making you gasp as you felt your back pulled against someone's firm chest.

“Especially my girl,” Minho’s eyes showed not a hint of amusement or politeness as he rested his chin on your shoulder almost protectively, as if daring Hyunjin to try again.

Hyunjin regarded the two of you with cautious intrigue, his eyes darting from Minho’s hand on your waist to his face now nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just wanted to make sure you know how lucky you are,” he smiled at Minho pleasantly, leaning forwards as his eyes sparkled when they met yours. Now, you may dislike Hyunjin, but you couldn't deny his beauty, and at such a distance, you couldn't help but feel a bit flustered as he purred, “And how easily that luck can be taken away from you.”

Minho bared his lips in a threatening snarl from behind you, making Hyunjin scoff as he turned away from the two of you without another word. A moment of tense silence screamed in the air before you cleared your throat awkwardly. This was definitely not a good way to start off a date.

“Well, that was weird,” you laughed, detangling yourself from Minho’s hold so you could face him, “I never thought I’d see the day where Hwang Hyunjin would flirt with me while he’s sober.”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Minho suddenly spit out with a surprising amount of vitriol in his tone, enough to fluster you for a moment, “Going after someone who’s obviously dating, he just doesn’t have any shame anymore! Plus, I was literally walking behind you. He definitely saw me before he made a move.”

Finding his behavior utterly bizarre, you stared at him for a long moment before you could even speak, “Are you...pretending to be jealous?”

“What?” Minho blinked, as if suddenly realizing that you were still there witnessing the extent of his ranting. And then, your question hit him like a ton of bricks, “What the fuck? I’m not pretending to be jealous, I--”

He stopped himself before he could do any more verbal damage to his own reputation, but inside, his head in shambles.

I’m not pretending to be jealous, I am jealous.

What was happening to him?

From the look on your face, Minho could tell you were a mixture of confused and suspicious, but you didn’t press him for more details or to finish his sentence. That was one thing he really appreciated about you. If he didn’t elaborate on his words, you trusted that he didn't say more because it simply didn't need to be said.

"Well, we should probably get going," you said, slipping your arm around his, "I was freezing my ass out here waiting for you."

"Then, perish."

"You're the worst social experiment boyfriend I've ever had!" You complained, your pout clear from the sound of your voice as Minho let you lead him to whatever date surprise you had in mind.

“I’m the only social experiment boyfriend you’ve ever had,” he pointed out reasonably, resting his head on yours while you waited for the traffic light to change.

You let out a huff, trying to push him off you, but it was rather fruitless to make Minho do anything, really, “You’re still the worst,” you said, trying to tickle your way out of the situation.

Minho only chuckled. Two could play at this game, he thought smugly as your attacks failed and he wrapped his arms around you from the side, pulling you snug against him so he could nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, tickling your skin with his hair and making you shriek.

“Lee Minho, I swear to God!” Despite the slurry of curse words that left your mouth, you were laughing and made no genuine attempts to pull away from him. You’ve noticed over the last few weeks that Minho was never one for blatant physical affection, but he was being abnormally clinging today.

“Admit it, kitten,” he teased, peeking up at your expression as he smiled, “I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

The world around you seemed to freeze as the weight of that question fully sunk in. Was Minho the best boyfriend you’ve ever had? You thought back to every awkward first date, every time the guy looked strangely disappointed when you said you wanted to head home by yourself, every time one of them awkwardly mentioned that they wanted you to cheer them on at the expense of your own passions. You thought through all of those memories before you realized oh my god Minho was the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

“Hmm? Oh, come on, I was kidding,” Minho seemed oblivious to your plight as he took your silence as a rejection, beginning to let go.

“You are.”

The words slipped out of your lips before you even realized what you had said. Minho��s eyes widened rather comically as he tried to make sure he was making the right mental connections in his head.

“I am?” He repeated slowly.

“You are...the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you muttered the last half, your face burning as if you’d eaten a whole bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.

Minho blinked, his entire system short-circuiting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said, awkwardly shuffling on the heels of your feet before you found your escape, “Oh, green light! Let's get moving!” Your voice was bright and overly cheery as if you didn't just drop a bombshell of a revelation on both Minho and yourself.

Minho practically stumbled over his own feet to catch up to you, “H-hey!” He grabbed your hand before you could pass the halfway point of the large intersection, where the light was manually turned red by one of the buses.

You glanced down at your intertwined hands and back up at his face before answering softly, “Thanks.”

He nodded in response, trying not to put too much attention to the way your fingers curled around his, trying not to put too much attention to the way your hand fit in his, and asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Well, you brought me to the place you like to go to destress, so I figured I would do the same,” you answered, reaching into your back pocket and pulling out a key that looked suspiciously like Jisung’s access card to the music building.

“Tell me you didn't steal Jisung's access card.”

“It's not stealing if I'm returning it before he knows what happened,” you shrugged.

“Um, yes it is.”

You glanced up at him with a playful smile, “You gonna rat me out, darling?”

That name of endearment shouldn't have affected him so much, but it did, and he physically had to restrain himself from holding your hand tighter as he scoffed, “I'm no snitch, especially not when it comes to my beautiful social experiment girlfriend.”

You let out a laugh, “You’re definitely the king of heart fluttering pet names.”

The rest of the walk to the music building was filled with idle chatter as the two of you slowly got back into the rhythm of your usual banter. At some moments, it was even easy to forget about the way you’d hug his arm to your chest as if shielding yourself from the cold. It was even easy to forget about the way his hand would gently squeeze yours if he felt you shiver too violently beside him, a silent check up on you. It was far too easy to call all of these little actions as normal, as if he was actually your boyfriend.

“Are you sure we're not going to get caught?” Minho asked as the two of you walked to the side door of the music building. Although, he didn't sound very concerned about potentially getting in trouble, only slightly curious.

You slid Jisung’s card into the reader and the door unlocked with a click, “I've done this for years. Even if people do check the rooms, there's lot of places to hide.”

The boy only chuckled, holding the door open so the two of you could walk in and escape from the biting winter cold. After wiping off your shoes using the doormat, you gingerly took his hand again and lead him up the stairs to the end of the hall where you pulled him into a dark room.

“Kitten, if you wanted to find a private little place for us to have some fun, we didn’t need to go all the way to the music room,” Minho said, amused, “I know plenty of lockable closets around the campus—”

“That’s so gross,” you said as you turned on the light, revealing that the two of you were in one of the group music rooms, with a piano sitting at the center of the room and a couple of instruments stored on the sides.

Minho placed a hand on his heart, “Mean,” he huffed accusingly at you. He was mostly kidding, of course, but a part of him felt a genuine despair at the fact that you didn't seem to be remotely flustered or enticed by the idea of being with him in that way, with such intimacy.

“Don't worry, Min. There will be plenty of fish out there desperate to jump into your arms soon enough,” you flashed him a wry smile as you grabbed one of the guitar cases and brought it to the carpet near the piano.

“Min?” He repeated, the nickname making him feel slightly better even as your words dampened his spirits. Did you really think he would be that eager to go back to his normal “no-strings-attached” routine after this month?

For the first time, you looked a little flustered as you sat down on the soft carpet, opening the guitar case with a few clicks of the locks, “Sorry. Do you hate it?” You asked sheepishly, “I just figured that you give me so many petnames, I should try to give you one, too. But if Min isn't good—”

“It is!” The boy interrupted a little too eagerly. Catching your surprised expression, he immediately controlled himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he sat down across from you, “Yeah, Min is fine. Min is good. It's just...new.”

“No one's ever called you Min before?” You asked with a curious expression while you pulled out the guitar with what Minho noticed was practiced ease.

He shrugged, “I don't think anyone’s ever given me a nickname before.”

I don't think anyone’s ever reached that level of closeness with me, was the unspoken follow-up to his statement. After all, what type of one-night stand would ever result in names of endearment or genuine emotional attachment?

“Hmm...maybe I should take it up a notch and call you Minmin,” you said absently, testing the tension of the strings and being totally unaware of the spiral you just send Minho down on.

Minmin? Minmin? The poor man was turning into a pile of mush before you and you didn’t even know what you did. Minho was sure that if you ever called him Minmin, he’d throw away everything to do as you asked.

“If you want,” he said, shuffling awkwardly as he sat across.

You glanced up at him, giggling as you finished tuning up the instrument, “So this is my de-stress room,” you said, “I like occasionally coming here to write songs or just play the instruments here.”

“You play instruments other than guitar?” Minho asked, sounding rather impressed.

“I used to play piano as a kid, actually,” you explained with a smile as you checked the A string, “Jisung taught me how to play guitar in our first year here.”

Minho bit his lip, struggling to keep control over his expressions, “Right.”

Never before in his life did Minho ever think that he’d be sitting across from you and feeling jealous about Han Jisung’s relationship with you. It wasn’t secret knowledge; he knew you used to like his friend, and you used to like him very much. It wasn’t like Minho minded; you were the one of the decent ones and you genuinely liked Jisung for who he was. Something must’ve happened in the middle of the second year, because you gradually seemed to pull away from Jisung at least in a romantic manner. Minho never thought much of it. But now, he was beginning to fully realize how close you and Jisung actually were, and how much that was beginning to bother him.

Did you still like Jisung? That was the question that always haunted his mind. Were you doing all of this for the boy in your past when Minho was here falling harder every single day?

“Hey, Min?”

Your voice broke into his thoughts as his ears perked up, “Yeah?” He answered with an uncharacteristically gentle voice. There was something about the way you spoke that felt hesitant and uncertain, rather unlike you, and he wanted to make sure that you felt comfortable being here with him.

“D-do—“ you swallowed nervously, “do you want to hear one of my songs?”

Minho’s eyes widened. As a friend of Jisung and the other two famous producers on campus, he was no stranger to hearing music that they produced. But because of that, he knew how much these songs meant to the people who wrote them. How personal they can be, and how terrifying it could be to share them with others. And the fact that you were willing to bare that part of your soul to him was a gesture of trust that he’d never expected.

“Do you want me to listen?” He asked with caution, “You really don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I do!” You blurted out before your cheeks grew warm, “You shared a big part of yourself with me when you took me to that cat cafe, so I wanted to do the same.”

Minho felt a little speechless, so all he could do was nod and give you an encouraging smile. Taking his gesture as acceptance, you cleared your throat softly and began to strumming out a simple chord progression.

The poor man was immediately entranced. There wasn’t any hope for him anymore. The moment you opened your mouth to sing, Minho fell into silent awe as he let your soft, soothing voice flow through his body. There was something so present about your voice, about the lyrics you sang. Everything just felt so raw that all he could really do was watch and listen with a gentle smile on his face.

When you finished, you opened your eyes and hesitantly turned to face him, “Well?” You prodded, a hint of nervousness slipping out of your lips.

It took Minho a few moments to put his thoughts together, and even then, they weren’t totally coherent. Nothing like the smooth-tongued, cheeky persona he always embodied, “That was--wow,” he stumbled over his words.

To his luck, you didn’t seem bothered by his failure to string his words together, but only smiled encouragingly, “A good wow, I hope?” You asked.

“Definitely a good wow. The best wow,” he nodded fervently as you laughed, waiting for him to continue, “Did you ever take classes like Jisung and Chan?”

“Oh, no. I definitely don’t have the extra money for that,” you said, resting your arms on your guitar, “But I’ve always loved to sing, and I’ve always loved hearing other people sing, too. My first childhood crush was this really cute busker who sang Hey There Delilah once near my city’s shopping street.”

Minho’s lips quirked up in a smirk. This was much more comfortable territory for him, especially when it means teasing you, which is honestly all he ever did, “A childhood crush, huh?” He drawled, stretching out his legs, “So you have a thing for people with good voices?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded, “If anyone has a good singing voice, I’m at least 40% more inclined to fall in love with them.”

“Wow,” he let out a laugh, “That is an incredibly significant statistic. I’m almost worried about how shallow you are.”

You let out a noise of indignation as Minho only laughed harder, fending away your useless attacks, “I am not shallow!” You snapped, your cheeks feeling warm, “Having a good singing voice is just an added bonus!”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, even going so far as to pinch your cheek playfully, “Is that why you fell in love with Jisungie?”

“I’m not in love with Jisung--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you aren’t now,” Minho waved his hand dismissively, even though deep in his heart, he didn’t actually know and that was why he approached the topic in the first place, “But you were in love with him back then, right?”

The withering glare you gave him was weak at best, and you sighed, hugging your guitar to your chest as if it was your own personal shield, “Yes, I was. But that was years ago and we agreed to be just friends. It was awkward in the beginning, but I’m content with the relationship we have now.”

“You are?” Minho asked, trying to sound casual as he picked a piece of lint off his pants.

You nodded surely enough for him to see that you were being genuine, “I am. Jisung is just a friend, nothing more.”

Why Minho seemed so interested in the topic that he’d ask not one, but two follow-up questions about Jisung, you didn’t know. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was jealousy or a way of making sure that you were emotionally available, but you did know better, and you knew that Lee Minho wasn’t that type of person.

Trying to bridge what was becoming an awkward silence, you cleared your throat and asked, “Do you have a favorite karaoke song? We could do a jam session here if you’re comfortable with singing.”

“You want me to sing after hearing how good you sound?” Minho scoffed in disbelief.

You visibly pouted, and Minho’s defenses immediately weakened, “Aww, I promise I won’t judge! And besides, Jisung said that you sounded good the last time you two went to the karaoke bar. It’s just the two of us, Min,” you smiled encouragingly, “We’re just here to have fun!”

Fuck everything. Fuck you and your gentle words, your soft smiles, your teasing eyes. Everything about you just made Minho want to lower all his walls and embrace all that you want to do. Letting out a sigh, he relented, “Fine. Do you know Congratulations by Day6?”

“Uh, I think the question is who doesn’t know Congratulations by Day6.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Minho scowled as you laughed, shifting the capo slightly higher on the neck of the guitar to the right tuning. Giving you time to get ready, Minho pulled up the lyrics on his phone to make sure he didn’t mess up unnecessarily in front of you. It shouldn’t matter, of course, but there was a weird fluttering in his stomach that made him almost believe that he was nervous.

When the two of you were finished fiddling around, you glanced up at him, smiling, “Ready? I’ll give a four count,” Minho nodded, and after you rapped your knuckles against the body of the guitar four times, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

His voice and your playing blended together almost magically, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared as he continued to sing, disregarding his phone since he seemed to know the lyrics by heart. All you had to do was follow along with your gentle strumming, listening and keeping up to the natural inflections of his voice. The room felt cozier, the sterile fluorescent lights felt warmer, and you were getting lost in the ethereal picture of Minho when--

“Why are the lights on in the hallway?”

The two of you immediately stopped as you glanced at each other, eyes comically wide. It seemed like, much to your luck, the security guard happened to choose that very day to make his rounds, despite skipping every other day during the week.

“Put the guitar away! I’ll turn off the lights!” Minho hissed at you as he bolted to the wall of the room and you went to place the guitar back in its case as quickly and carefully as possible. Luckily, the music room didn't have any windows on the door, and the guard couldn’t see what was happening inside unless he actually entered the room.

The two of you just managed to put the guitar back in its original state and turn off the lights just as his footsteps neared the door. In a split second, Minho grabbed your arms and yanked you into one of the bass storage compartments, closing the closet door right before the guard opened the door to the music room, looking around curiously.

Neither of you could even breathe in the crammed space of the closet as you tentatively waited for the guard to check the room. The storage compartment left almost no wiggle room, and Minho’s arm stayed wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest so the two of you could fit.

Oh god, this was too much for you. The thumping of his heart against yours, the tickling of his hair against your ear as he had to dip down to avoid thumping his head against the top, the grip he had on your waist as his thumb rubbed your side, an instinctive attempt to calm your nerves.

The silence screamed in the room, and the two of you held your breaths before the footsteps exited the room, and the door clicked closed. Even still, both of you stayed totally quiet for a few moments longer before Minho let out a soft chuckle.

“This is definitely a closet I haven't explored.”

You swatted at his arm, “Now is not the time to make dirty jokes!” You scolded, but Minho accepted your angry hands, happily holding you snug against his chest as he laughed.

“If not now, then when?”

“How about never?” You rolled your eyes as you lifted your head to glare up at him, but your intentions seemed to die out the moment you realized just how close the two of you were. Minho’s face was not inches, but centimeters away from yours, your noses almost brushing and your foreheads so close that you could practically count his eyelashes.

Minho gulped, staring down at you in panic and awe as he struggled to maintain his composure. There was so much he could do, so much he’s done before; this position shouldn’t be all that shocking for him. As he’d said before, he has had his fair share of sloppy closet makeouts and even a little more than that. Cramming into a storage closet with his arms around you shouldn’t be enough to send his mind and heart into overdrive.

But they were, because he’s never met anyone that set his heart alight like you did. His eyes trailed obviously to your lips, the way that yours eyes did to his, but he couldn’t find it in himself to make the first move. There was something holding him back, an irrational fear that prevented him from moving too quickly, a fear that he might scare you away.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly, your hands finding their home on his chest as neither of you made moves to pull away.

“About how this date took a rather strange turn,” he answered instead, his eyes glittering with amusement.

To his surprise, you look flustered and a bit ashamed at his words, “Ah, I am sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t think it was going to turn out like this. They never check the rooms, and I just wanted to show you a place where I--”

A gasp fell out of your lips as Minho pulled you forward until your body collided with his chest. He engulfed you in a tight hug, his face buried in your hair as he mumbled with what you could discern was a hint of trepidation and shyness, “Don’t be sorry. Thank you for showing me this side of you.”

Your hands stilled behind him, your eyes widening as you felt him hold you tighter. You could feel the beat of his heart, the trembling in his breath, and the remainder of the walls around your heart all but collapsed as you snaked your arms around his midriff, snuggling your face into his shoulder and marveling at how perfectly you fit against him.

“Thank you for giving me the chance,” you murmured, your voice muffled by his familiar leather jacket as you smiled, “You know…”

“Hmm?” Minho answered absently, holding you close.

“I like this better than fighting.”

Minho couldn’t help but giggle at the sheer simplicity of your statement, and he couldn’t help but feel inclined to agree with you.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Fuck!”

Minho let out a trail of belligerent curses as he ran to the nearest bus station, holding his leather jacket over both of your heads to shield the two of you from the sudden and pouring rain. As the two of you were walking in the middle of the flower garden right before the weather took a sharp turn for the worse, both of you were soaked to the bone by the time you found shelter.

As you clutched at your chest, gasping for breath, you huffed grumpily at the boy beside you, who looked way too dashing for someone who was doused like a wet dog, “Weren't you supposed to check the weather?”

“Well, if we went to the arcade like I'd suggested instead of the park, we wouldn't be in this predicament, would we?” Minho retorted, running a hand through his damp locks.

“It’s a Friday night. The arcade would’ve been packed to the brim and you still would’ve been all pissy.”

“It’s better than being soaked to the bone and freezing our asses off at some random bus station.”

The two of you maintained your angry tense glares for only a moment longer before you caved, rolling your eyes as a smile crept on your face, “It seems like nothing has changed, even on our last date.”

“We're destined enemies. The universe has decreed it long ago, sweetheart,” Minho chuckled.

The most humorous thing about both of those statements were how utterly false they were, and how aware both of you were about that fact. Anything and everything that existed between the two of you had changed during the course of the month, and both of you knew it. Minho had changed from a necessary annoyance to an irreplaceable pillar in your life, a source of honesty and comfort that you've grown to relish. Even though the two of you still bickered like cats and dogs, there was something good-natured about it now.

“Well, our garden date is fucked and we can't exactly go to the arcade like this, so what do you suppose we do?” You asked with a grimace as you wrung the excess water out of your hair, “This is the last day before our project ends.”

Minho sighed, shaking the droplets of water off his jacket as he bit his lip, turning his gaze to your side profile. You were happily oblivious to his stare, continuing to twist the water out of your hair as you stared out at the rainy street, humming softly to yourself. He could tell immediately that you were cold and doing your best to keep yourself from shivering.

It was definitely a pet peeve of his that he’d grown more and more annoyed over as he spent the month by your side. You never liked to wear jackets or bring them along, despite the fact that you were literally cold-blooded and tended to match the temperature of whatever weather was going on around you. It got so bad at times that Minho had already developed a habit of bringing you an extra jacket or scarf so you at least didn’t catch a fucking cold while you were spending on dates with him.

Unfortunately, the forecast had predicted clear skies and warm weather for the whole day, and Minho didn’t think about bringing that extra jacket around this time, so all you could do was perish in your cold, soaked clothes.

“You could come over and hang out at my place.”

The words tumbled out of Minho's mouth before he could really consider the consequences, and all he could do after that was look as nonchalant as possible.

As expected, you gawked at him as if he'd grown a second head, “You want me to hang out at your apartment?”

“Don't make me repeat myself,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot, “We could dry up there and maybe watch some Netflix or something."

You let out a scandalized gasp, dramatically covering your chest with your arms, and Minho's face burned as he gave you a hard shove, "Not like that, oh my god!" He sputtered in total embarrassment, fully beginning to process the implications of his words.

As the poor man dissolved in his own misery, you cackled, relishing his suffering as you ran a hand through your wet locks, "I'm kidding, genius!" You said with a laugh, "Gosh, who knew you were actually such a prude on the inside."

If you took Minho seriously at all, his glare would have sent you six feet under. Unfortunately for him, one month of fake dating taught you that the man was a lot more bark than bite. You were basically Minho-immune at this point.

“You know what?” He closed his eyes, grabbing at whatever supernatural patience he had not to just shut you up with his lips smashing against yours, “Offers’ off. Walk home yourself.”

“Aw, alright I’m sorry!” You laughed, ruffling his messed up hair as you walked out of the bus stop and into the pouring rain, “Come on, please? I promise I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

You promising not to make fun of him sounded about as genuine as Jisung saying that he’d stop procrastinating on his homework, but what was Minho going to do? Make you walk home by yourself in this type of weather? It wasn’t that he was giving you any special treatment; this was just what any good samaritan would do.

With a roll of his eyes, he stomped over to you and flung his leather jacket over your head, “Let’s go,” he muttered. Smiling playfully, you followed him home, using his jacket to shield you from the rain as you stared at his back with a hint of bittersweetness.

The jacket still smelled like him, you thought absently as you walked in his shadow. As much as you’d tried to deny it to yourself, Minho smelled good. He smelled like Febreeze and citrus. You were going to miss the warmth of his jacket very soon, when he’d no longer be obligated to take care of you or make sure that you won’t catch a cold.

“Did you die back there, sweetheart?” Minho called behind him, “You’ve gone all quiet.”

“If I died, how exactly was I supposed to answer you?”

“Oh, my bad. I was really only asking out of courtesy,” he smirked, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkled with a mischief you’ve grown out of hating. Seeing the few feet of distance between the two of you, he extended his hand, chuckling, “Seriously, what are you doing all the way back there? Come on.”

You felt yourself grow quiet, taking a few large strides forward before you let go of the jacket and slipped your hand into his. Minho’s fingers laced with yours as he continued on his way, leading you down a couple streets before you made it to the familiar apartment complex.

Now, you’ve been to Minho’s place a couple times, so you didn’t feel too overwhelmed as the two of you rushed into the lobby area sopping wet and trying your best to dry off your shoes on the mat. However, it was always just a quick stop, like standing in the lobby area while he went up to grab something, or meeting with him downstairs before going on a date. You’d never actually been into his apartment before, and as the two of you stood in the elevator in a deafening silence, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing a little faster than normal.

“Alright, now I’m worried,” he said as the numbers on the elevator screen went up slowly, “You’re being abnormally quiet. What’s up?”

You blinked in momentary surprise, not expecting him to pry, since he wasn’t ever the type, “Oh. I’m just wondering what your place looks like,” you said, smiling.

Minho didn’t buy it for one second, but he only gave you a strange glance as the elevator doors opened, “I see. Well, it’s nothing special. It’s just like any other dumpy frumpy apartment.”

“I didn’t mean like whether it looks expensive or not,” you said with a soft laugh as the two of you walked down the hallway towards the door to the left, “I’m just wondering whether it would be clean or messy, if you like to keep it warm or cold. Those sorts of things.”

“Oh,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time, he felt a little nervous about twisting his key and opening the door. What if you had higher expectations about it than he could actually meet? Wait, did he pick up those boxers off the floor before he left that morning? He did, right?

“What are you waiting for?” You asked in amusement, watching as Minho seemed to have gone very still after he pushed his key into the keyhole. When he didn’t budge, you moved forward to turn it yourself, only for him to angle his body in front of the door.

“Uh, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he said with a pleasant, saccharine smile.

You blinked, “Minho, we’re literally at your door,” you said just as a loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance, “And it’s thundering. Your room can’t be that horrid, right?”

“It might be a bit messy,” he argued.

“We’ve both spent game nights in Jisung’s hell hole. I think I can handle however messy your apartment is.”

That was a fair point. Minho couldn’t really find an argument against that attack. Lowering his head, he sighed, “Let me head in to tidy some things first.”

With a raised eyebrow, you crossed your arms, “No problem, but I seriously don’t care, if that’s what your worried about.”

Minho could only nod suddenly before he turned the key, unlocked the door and slipped in faster than a ghost before slamming the door shut. Just like he’d predicted, his boxers were lying nonchalantly on his bedroom floor, and he shoved them in his hamper before cleaning--more like hiding--the rest of his junk in record time.

You were beginning to think that Minho had just locked you out of his apartment when the door opened once more, and he walked out with a towel in hand, “Did you hide whatever dirty toy you needed to hide?” You asked with a smirk.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” he retorted, throwing the towel at you and leading you inside.

The apartment wasn’t far from your expectations. Clean, but not meticulously so, a little bit on the chilly side, and a sense of homeliness with the warm lights and lamps that he chose from the living area. You found yourself growing fonder and fonder of it by the minute.

“It’s cute,” you smiled, wrapping the towel around your neck.

Minho tried to ignore the way his cheeks warmed at the simple, but genuine compliment that fell out of your lips, “Thanks. I laid out a change of clothes for you in the bathroom. You can also take a shower if you feel like you need to warm up.”

“What a gentleman,” you said teasingly as you placed your handbag down on the floor as you headed to where Minho had gestured to the bathroom, “Do you have people over often?” It was an easy question, not even close to brushing the real question that sat in the back of your mind.

Is what we have special? Do I mean something different to you the way you mean something different to me?

“Actually, besides Jisung, you’re probably the first,” Minho answered, grabbing a towel to dry off his own hair as he walked towards you, “I don’t really like strangers or acquaintances in my space.”

“Oh, I should be honored, then,” you said, trying to contain your surprise as turned to face him, studying the way his damp hair framed his face and the way his eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that you could never read. You could never tell what that gaze wanted, what that gaze meant, but you knew what it did to you and your foolish little heart.

Minho’s head tilted ever so slightly as the silence hung in the air. Then, he smiled, brushing the tip of his finger under your chin, “Well, being my social experiment girlfriend has to have its perks.”

The trance shattered, and whatever moment of tension and unexplainable attraction you felt disappeared into the air as you marched towards the bathroom, “I’m glad I got to make use of it before my membership expires tomorrow,” you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you shut the door.

A laugh left Minho’s lips as he shook his head, walking into his bedroom and quickly getting into a change of clothes before flopping onto his couch. This experiment has proved to be one of the most difficult experiences in his life. All this time, he always knew what he wanted, and he always knew how to get it. If he wanted someone, he got them. If he wanted to pursue something, he found himself being able to achieve it with just a bit of hard work on his part.

But with you, he didn’t know what he wanted, nor did he know how to obtain it. When he met you as Jisung’s other best friend, he never once imagined that the two of you would form such a strange yet irreplaceable relationship in such a short amount of time. He liked you, he liked you a lot. But as he found himself falling further and further, he realized that the reason this was so difficult was because he cared about you. His way of living with no strings attached wasn’t going to cut it anymore, especially since he was beginning to notice that many of his strings were tightly wrapped around your fingers.

And despite this, the two of you were going to have to cut them all off when the morning came.

“Fuck you, Jisung. You probably knew this was going to happen, you little shit,” Minho sighed, lying down on the couch and closing his eyes. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about the goodbye. He’d deal with it when it came.

“Uh, Minmin?”

“Hmm?” Minho answered you absently, his eyes still closed.

“You can shower if you’d like,” you offered, the couch dipping under your weight as you sat beside him.

“Nah, I’ll just shower tomorrow morning,” Minho said, opening his eyes and physically having to fight back a blush as he saw you, his hoodie practically engulfing you whole and his sweats going past your feet. Oh fuck, did he even think things through when he picked out a spare set of clothes for you?

You caught his stunned gaze, your cheeks immediately reddening, “L-look, they’re just a little big on me!” You said defensively as you grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it in his face, “Can’t you stop staring?”

Minho laughed, fending off your relentless pillow attacks with his arms, “Sweetheart, I swear! You actually look really cute!”

“Shut up!” You shrieked, swinging your arms relentlessly as Minho finally had enough letting you win. Lashing out with his hands, he grabbed both of your wrists, stopping their movement and forcing you to drop the pillow as he yanked you forward. With all your momentum going in one direction, your body had no choice but to follow, and when you opened your eyes, you were sprawled on top of him on the couch, his hands still locking your wrists in place.

“Um,” you looked around, further procession the rather awkward position the two of you had taken, “did you mean for this to happen?”

Minho didn’t, but he was nothing if not an opportunist, “You can think whatever you wanna think,” he shrugged, letting go of your wrists as he wrapped a casual arm around your waist, “What? Not comfortable?”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that the position was actually quite comfortable. Minho was always built like a personal heater and whatever chill you felt from running around in the rain just seemed to melt away as he held you.

Stop it, the little voice in your mind whispered as you tried not to focus on the fact that your face was inches from his. This date was for you to say your goodbyes, not fall farther into the black hole.

“Comfortable? Hardly,” you scoffed as best you could, pushing yourself up with your hands and curling up on the couch beside his stretched out figure, “You’re all muscle from dancing so much. It’s like sleeping on a rock.”

“Ah, these abs are hard as rock,” Minho nodded very seriously.

“I wasn’t talking about your abs.”

“Then what else can be hard?” He blinked for a moment before his smile turned unbelievably devilish, “My, my, (name)...I didn’t know you were so--”

You grabbed the pillow you’d previously discarded and shoved it into his chest, “Can we watch something?” You interrupted him pleasantly, pretending not to have even heard the beginning of his less than appropriate joke.

Minho huffed, throwing the stupid pillow to the floor as he scooted next to you, “Sure, want popcorn?” He asked, handing you the remote after turning on his TV, “Just find something on Netflix.”

“Anything you don’t like to watch?” You asked, browsing through the selections.

“Nothing horror related,” he answered as he pushed himself off the couch, heading to the kitchen.

His reply felt strange to you, and you frowned, turning around to look at him, “But don’t you love horror movies?” You asked, remembering very clearly that Minho and Jisung had first met because they both went to the same viewing of a new horror movie that you refused to go to.

“Yeah, but you don’t, right?” Minho pointed out before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly and disappearing into the kitchen area as you were left reeling at his almost blasé answer, struck by how much he’d grown to learn about you and how much he'd grown to take your feelings into account.

Now that you thought about it, you realized how much Minho's personality had changed and affected the way you did things, not in a controlling way, but in a way that you found yourself thinking about him when making decisions. When you made your weekly batch of bread, you tended to lean towards milk bread because it was Minho’s favorite. When you went out for dinner together, you thought about what he enjoyed before picking a cuisine. When you browsed for cute accessories, your taste gravitated to cats because they reminded you of him.

Holy fuck, how deep in were you?

“You didn't pick anything yet,” Minho noticed as he poked his head out from the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to finish.

“O-oh right,” you fumbled with the remote in your hands as you scrolled through the selections.

Minho hummed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Hmm…? What were you thinking about, kitten?”

“Nothing, stop being nosy,” you answered with an annoyed edge as you found something that piqued your interest, “Hey, wanna watch Bridgerton? I heard some good things about it from my friends.”

"I heard it's a bit of a shitshow," Minho commented as the microwave beeped and the smell of buttered popcorn filled the room. Grabbing the bowl and taking a few pieces for himself, he returned to the living room, jumping over the couch and plopping down beside you.

You tried to ignore how casual it felt for him to just throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you close, focusing on the TV, “Wanna check it out to see which review is accurate?”

“Sure, whatever you want, kitten.”

As the two of you powered through episode after episode, it became clear that both reviews had some merit, as the series was a bit of a shitshow, but one that you wouldn't be able to stop watching. Minho and you found yourselves rather invested in the story and the characters, letting out a huge “finally” when the two leads confessed their genuine love for one another.

“Another episode?” You asked after a short bathroom break, falling into his arms even more so than before and practically snuggling into his warm chest now.

“Go for it, sweetheart. I have all night.”

“So do I,” you chuckled, and pressed the play button.

However, things started to take a weird turn after you reached the middle mark of the series. Bouts of contained love had been released, and there were beginning to be many scenes that weren't quite appropriate for general audiences. You quickly realized that this was probably not the show you should've picked to watch through straight-faced with your lovely social experiment boyfriend.

You held your tongue for most of them, just wanting and wishing for them to be over as soon as possible, but when positions started to turn towards an even more peculiar direction, you couldn't help but make one rather underhanded comment.

“Ugh, forget the literal fanfic fake dating trope they had going on. This is probably the most unrealistic part of the whole show,” you said with mild disgust as you watched the female lead gripping on the rails of the staircase.

“Oh?” Minho perked up at your comment almost too eagerly. Like you, he had also been suffering from the tragic case of watching a dirty scene with his totally-fake-but-also-somehow-real girlfriend, and felt a crash of relief when you spoke up about something, “And why is that, kitten?”

A noise of disbelief choked out of your throat as you gestured at the scene before your eyes, “I mean, look at them! Can you possibly expect me to believe that she feels comfortable in that position, much less enjoy it?”

Minho shrugged, “You’d be surprised how much you can ignore when you’re in the moment.”

“I don’t believe it,” you scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn, “At least, I’ve never had such an experience before.”

The conversation was dropped then and there, and the show continued without further criticism. But halfway through the next episode, you began to feel that you were being watched, and sure enough, Minho was gazing at you with an unreadable expression, deep in thought.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, chuckling awkwardly, “Do I have something on my...Min?”

Your eyes widened comically as Minho suddenly shifted on the couch, leaning impossibly closer to you and gently cupping your jaw with his hand. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Had he lost his mind?!

Minho seemed to answer your silent question as he stopped right before his lips could brush yours, and his eyes searched for any fear or hesitation in your expression, “Is it true?” He asked hoarsely, his words no louder than a faint whisper.

“What true?” You murmured back, looking up at him through your lashes.

The man gulped, trying to hold onto whatever semblance of control he had left in his body, “What you said earlier...about never having such an experience before.”

Oh, your cheeks reddened as bright as apples, “Why do you have to bring it up again, idiot?!” You felt your voice fail you as Minho tightened his hold on you.

“So it’s true?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, “Yes, it’s true! What does it have to do with you, asshole?”

Minho sucked in a breath, studying your face as his eyes shone with gentle adoration and tenderness that you didn’t even know he could possess, “Can I kiss you, (name)?”

Your name. It was your name. Not sweetheart. Not kitten. Not any other petname he could give anyone that he pleased. He uttered your name. He was asking for your permission. And like a sailor drawn in by the siren’s song, you had no hope of escaping now.

“Yes.”

Closing the gap, your lips met as the two of you finally succumbed to the growing tension that festered with every meeting, every touch of your hands, every quip thrown both ways. Minho caressed your cheek as your hands slid to his shoulders, reveling in the kiss that was such a long time coming.

When he finally pulled away to let both of you catch your breaths, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide as he stared at you underneath him. Swallowing, he brushed the hair away from your face, his heart warming with unrestrained affection as you leaned into his touch instead of pulling away, “Can I give you that experience you’ve been lacking?” He asked, a coil of anxiety rolling in his stomach as he studied your face for every miniscule reaction.

Any inkling that you didn’t want to, any inkling that you were only going to along to please him, he’d end it all. Minho knew very well that he was walking on a tightrope of maybe losing you forever.

But to his surprise, you didn’t look fearful or uncomfortable, only a bit uncertain, “T-this is our last night though, a-as…” you trailed off, not wanting to make those thoughts a reality, just like Minho had been actively avoiding the topic as well.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, stroking your cheek absently with his thumb, “Maybe...we can think of this as a goodbye.”

You smiled, “It’s one hell of a goodbye,” you teased, making him chuckle. It was definitely one hell of a goodbye.

“Do you want it?” Minho whispered, hovering over you, “You say the word, and I’ll back off. Promise.”

Sucking in a breath, you decided not to live by your head anymore. With Lee Minho holding you close, kissing you silly, what was there to refuse?

“I want it,” you murmured, “I want you.”

This was the right choice, you told yourself as Minho carried you to his bedroom, treating you with a delicacy and gentleness that you’ve never experienced before. It was the culmination of your feelings for him. Maybe, when the morning comes, these feelings would wash away with your bouts of pleasure. Maybe, when the morning comes, you wouldn’t be as deeply in love with him as you were now.

Right?

epilogue.

When you woke in the morning, the rays of sunlight spilling in through Minho’s dark curtains, you were almost stunned by how very wrong you were. As you turned your head, finding yourself face to face with Minho, fast asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you knew that you were not only still in love with Minho, but you were more in love with him than you were the night before.

And boy, did that terrify you to your very core.

Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to happen. The experiment was over, right? There wasn’t a purpose that pulled you two together anymore. There wasn’t a purpose for Minho to feel any sort of attraction to you anymore.

Too terrified to face the love of your life when he woke, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

And you ran.

Detangling yourself from Minho as gently as possible, you slipped out of his bed, grabbing your clothes from where they’d been haphazardly discarded around the room. You changed in record time, anxious to avoid making sound or staying around until Minho woke. It was only 8:30 in the morning, though, and you knew that Minho naturally didn’t like to wake before 9:00, so you had a bit of time.

You wanted to leave as soon as you finished changing, but your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you disappear without some form of gratitude. For the night before or for the way he’d treated you the whole month, you didn’t know. But either way, you grabbed a couple of ingredients that he had in his refrigerator and fixed him a hearty breakfast before heading to the door. You only looked back once before officially steeling yourself to disappear from Lee Minho’s life, at least until you’d be able to resolve these naive and yet deep-seated feelings you had for him.

For the rest of the week, life went on as normal for you, as if your one unforgettable month with Minho had all but faded into the wind as you had hoped that night. You finished your final entry in the diary and handed it back to Jisung the day after the experiment ended. If he had questions as to why you’d disregarded the original plan to hand yours over along with Minho’s at the same time, he didn’t bring them up.

“Did you at least have fun, (name)?” Jisung asked before you could turn around to leave.

You hesitated, quickly realizing that the fact that you couldn’t answer the question immediately gave away your uncertainty. After a long moment of thought, you nodded.

“Yeah, I did.”

You really did, though. There was no point lying to yourself about that when you were already having such a hard time pretending that your very real feelings for Minho don’t exist.

Speaking of Minho, you spent much of the week trying to cut him out of your life as much as possible, which was proven to be rather difficult since the two of you had such a close friend in common. You could tell that Jisung was getting a little sick of seesawing between his two best friends without knowing why the two of you were acting this way. Even back when the two of you were basically the worst of enemies, neither of you ever actively tried to avoid seeing the other.

But now, you were avoiding Minho like the plague. You avoided his school building entirely, and if you happened to see him walking down the street by some unlucky miracle, you’d bolt in a random direction and hide in a store until you were sure he was gone.

It was a lot of effort, and you weren’t even sure if it was working, since your feelings for him seemed to grow even stronger the more you were away from him.

There was just worry that festered within your heart, this genuine concern you had over his wellbeing now that you weren’t able to check on him every day. Was he eating well? Was he skipping breakfast now that you stopped giving him your milk bread? Did he pass that exam he was worried about?

It seemed your feelings for Minho were going to need a little more than distance to disappear.

After two weeks of moping and frustratingly obvious heart sickness on both sides, Han Jisung finally had enough with his idiotic best friends.

You opened your door in surprise as Jisung stood at the entrance of your apartment, an unusually angry expression on his face, “U-uh, Sungie? You good?”

“Do I look good?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “How the fuck do you expect me to be good when I’ve been fucking tiptoeing between you and Minho for the past two weeks?!”

You flinched at the very mention of his name, “I’m sorry. I promise everything will go back to normal soon.”

“With the way you’re doing things, I don’t think that’s going to happen, (name),” Jisung rubbed his eyes tiredly, and you finally noticed the deep eyebags he had, indicating several all nighters, “I finished writing my thesis paper.”

“Oh, congrats.”

It was easier to muster up a smile at that statement, since you were genuinely proud of Jisung for such a daring project.

“I also read both of your notebooks.”

Fuck. That was a necessary part of writing that paper.

You nodded, trying to keep your cool, “Okay? Did they not have enough information?”

“Forget the stupid project for one fucking moment, please,” Jisung interrupted before sighing, “At first, I thought the awkwardness came from the fact that you still hate each other, but it turns out it’s just the opposite.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jisung threw you a long look, as if silently weighing several options in his head. You could practically see his thoughts running a mile a minute, and all you could do was stand there as he finally reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar notebook.

“This--” Your eyes widened as you gazed down at the name written in Sharpie, a name that decidedly wasn’t yours, “Jisung, you can’t--”

“Yes, I know that as the operator of this experiment, giving out information that I’d originally stated was confidential is absolutely against everything that science stands for,” he said wearily, “But as your friend and Minho’s friend, this is the right thing to do.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Read it, dummy. I could tell you what’s inside, but I don’t think you’d believe me unless you saw it yourself.”

Jisung grabbed your wrist and pressed the little notebook into the palm of your hand, “I think you’ll know what to do after,” he smiled gently, his eyes filled with earnest care as he gave you a quick hug and made his way down the hall, leaving you to stand at your door holding Minho’s grey project notebook.

With nothing else to do, you entered your apartment again and plopped down on the couch, notebook in hand. Did you even want to see it, Minho’s unadulterated truth? A part of you wasn't, but curiosity always killed the cat, and you found yourself gingerly opening the first page.

Nothing was far from what you expected at first, since it matched quite well to your own experiences. First blatant dislike, then grudging respect, and finally, a growing fondness. You found yourself smiling as you read about how much Minho actually adored the bentos you made, even though he never made his thoughts on it entirely clear to you.

Then, you finally made it to the last page: Day 31. You found yourself stopping short, your heart beginning to race again as your eyes scanned the first few words.

lee minho: day 31 + 2 days

action(s): last date

notes: yeah, i know this entry is late, but i just needed some time to collect myself.

she left in the morning before i could wake up. i can’t say i was surprised, since i told her the night could be our goodbye, but i’d hoped in some part of me that she’d stay, that we’d just carry on with the rest of the month like the ending date didn’t exist. she made me breakfast, though, so at least i know she wasn’t disappointed or upset with me about how far things went. at least i hope.

fuck, jisung, i can’t stop thinking about her. it’s been two days already and nothing i do can make me forget her. the last night just made things infinitely worse. i played with fire and im getting burned for it. i can’t get the way she felt out of my head, the way she would also look into my eyes and see me for what i am inside, not just what i look like. i miss her milk bread, i miss seeing her outside the dance studio.

jisung, i think i love her. no fuck it, i do love her, and there’s nothing i can do anymore. she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me based on how she’d been avoiding me like the plague whenever i see her on the street. and now, i don't even know how much of what she felt, how much of what she did for me was real. did she put in so much effort because she wanted you to be happy? or was the way she hugged me, the way she spoke to me, was it all real?

it doesnt matter now.

By the time you made it to the end of the page, your eyes were filled with tears and your vision blurred over. Minho...he loved you? Had you been so absorbed with wallowing in your own misery that you failed to realize that your actions were hurting him?

Panic filled your very being, and as Jisung had predicted, you knew exactly what you had to do. You had to make amends, apologize for your actions, and at the very least, express your own feelings to him directly, even if it was too little too late.

With the notebook clutched tightly in your hand, you grabbed your purse and rushed out the door, still putting on your boots as you hopped to the elevator. Which bus did you have to take to get to his apartment? First the #2 and then transfer over to #13...right.

You bolted out of the lobby, feeling the rush of cold air seep through your bones, but you hardly found it in yourself to care. You ran to the bus station, anxiously shuffling on either feet as you waited for the next #2 line bus to arrive. When the bus finally arrived, you were already standing at the edge of the sidewalk, too jittery to sit. The doors slid open, and before you could barge inside, your jaw went slack as a familiar figure stepped out of the bus, his own eyes widened as they caught yours.

What was most interesting, however, was the familiar grey notebook that he clutched in his hand, one that was painfully identical to the one you were holding.

The two of you stood in an awed silence as Minho got off the steps, and the bus drove away. Immediately, you felt a wave of concern as you looked him over from a distance. Did he lose weight? Was he getting enough sleep?

In the end, Minho was the one who spoke first, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Judging by the notebook in your hand, I’m assuming that Jisung fucked us both over?”

“Y-yeah, sort of,” you answered, surprised that your voice didn’t completely fail you in such an important moment.

Minho seemed to wait for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he spoke again, “Um, I read it. Your diary entries.”

That wasn’t a surprise, of course, see that you read his, but you couldn’t stop the wave of flushed embarrassment from washing over you as you thought about all the embarrassing things you wrote about him, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking sheepish, “Do you really think I sound like an angel when I sing?”

Oh, if you could hide yourself six feet under, you would have. But you could nod shamefully, “Yeah.”

“Do you really like it when I cuddle with you and pull you onto my lap?”

Was this your punishment for not being honest upfront? “Y-yes! Now can you please shut up--”

“Do you really love me?”

The wind was knocked out of your lungs as you finally looked up to stare at Minho, whose face was unreadable as always. He held up the notebook and repeated his question when you couldn’t find it in yourself to muster up an answer, “You said in your final entry that you were in love with me, that you loved every part of me inside and out, and that our final night together just made everything so much more real. Is it true?”

Your eyes filled with pain as you choked out softly, “What will you do…if it is?”

Minho’s expression didn’t seem to change, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes seemed to return to their usual sparkle just a little bit, “If it is true, then I’d call you an idiot for ghosting me.”

“R-right--”

“And then I’d walk over to where you’re standing. I’d wrap my arms around your waist like the way you love, and I’d kiss you silly. I’d tell you that I’m totally and completely in love with you, as you probably already know from my diary entires, and I’d ask you to be my real girlfriend,” Minho spoke, his voice filled with meaning as his grip on your notebook tightened, “Now tell me, is it true?”

You couldn’t even remember how to breathe as you stared at him, the cold winter wind making his cheeks so delightfully rosy that all you wanted to do was to kiss them gently and warm them up with your mittens. And as he gazed at you, the sincerity pouring out of his posture, his words, and his eyes, there was no way you could continue lying to yourself.

“It is true,” you said, your eyes filling with unshed tears as you gripped at his notebook, “I’m in love with you, Lee Minho, and it’s tearing me apart just like it’s tearing you apart. I want to love you for real, I want to date you for real, I want us to be real.”

Minho took three large steps forward before he was right in front of you and his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist like he’d promised, and yours cupped his cheek as he kissed you with unrestrained fervor.

Wow, he really did kiss you silly.

“No more rules, no more of this social experiment bullshit,” he murmured against your lips as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “Do you want to be my real girlfriend, (name)?”

What was there to refuse?

the enemies to lovers project: [success]

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x y/n #skz x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids x reader #dream type: oneshot

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