#sorry for the word vomit. im extremely on edge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pygmi-cygni · 12 days

Text

T Minus 7

part four is here im so sorry

i feel terrible i dipped out for two weeks and all i have to show for it is this piece of garbage

good luck

cw: nothing just tension (are you bored be honest) and mention of vomit.

Masterlist

Ben was in mid sentence when you flung open the door to his office. The window shattered as it bounced violently off the wall. Every med tech in the room froze, glittering dusk spreading over the floor. the shards crunched under your footsteps as you came nose to nose with Ben. Your cheeks were on fire, chest heaving. Breathe. Breathe.

"You drugged my patient," you spat, flinging the clipboard at your boss. A few interns skittered backwards, murmuring concern. Ben dodged the flying paper, swearing.

"What the hell-"

"Miguel O'Hara," you seethed, "Spiderman of Universe 2099-A. Was specifically given to me to care for, and yet I found a drug that I did not administer in his bloodstream." You punctuated this bombshell with a snarl, jabbing roughly at the file summary.

Ben adjusted his glasses. "Now, now calm down a second-"

"He was getting better and now he's a rabid animal!" Your shout echoed across the whole med bay. Logic had gone out the window; you were far too focused on finding answers.

"Do you see what has happened to him?" Miguel was prone on a cot, tubes shoved into his throat. "He's tied up there for no reason other than the side effects of whatever cocktail you gave him without telling me."

Ben shot a look at the hovering interns, who quickly dispersed. Still calm as a breeze, he sat and gestured for you to do the same. Folding your arms, you didn't budge. Anger had blurred the edges of your vision and highlighted his nonchalant expression. You could smell the cold sweat gathering along his hairline.

Be scared, you coward.

He sighed again. "I'm sorry for the confusion. But this situation...is worse than you understand."

"Then make me understand," you bit back.

Ben was clearly disgruntled with your stern attitude. He hesitated, then pulled up a few documents for you to look at.

"Miguel has serious attitude problems," he said, "as I'm sure you've noticed. His extreme anger and violent reactions are a result of hormone imbalances from his unstable splicing with a spider breed."

Sitting back, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You mirrored his expression. When it was clear that was the only explanation he'd give you, you snorted.

"Yeah, okay. Why did you give him that drug? What even is that?"

Ben stood, jaw ticking. The smell of his own endorphins was stronger, making your nose twitch. Let him get mad. If he yelled, you could yell right back.

"I've given you all the information you need. I don't think you're the right nurse for this-"

Your palm cracked across his face before you could think about it. He flinched, skin flaring up at the contact. Pride roared in your chest, despite the waver of regret.

Ben leaned forward and snatched the ID from your jacket. "You're done," he said coldly.

A low buzz rang through your head, chilling your blood. The uncertainty and anger mixed in a disgusting whirlpool in your stomach, urging you to hurl in a garbage can. You swallowed it down proudly and stormed out without another word.

"So who's taking care of Miguel?" Your friend chewed her thumb nervously after you told her the story. Yeah, it was classified, but you didn't owe Ben shit anymore.

"I...dunno," you exhaled, scrubbing a palm over your face. You hadn't thought this through at all. Maria's gaze softened when she took in your terrified expression.

You'd been a mess since you arrived home; immediately vomiting in the sink and having a panic attack on the bathroom floor. Maria almost called the med bay before you blubbered about the situation. She was shocked at the state of O'Hara.

The idea of leaving him in the med bay with some random nurse made your chest twist. He'd had such a hard time with the needles...and the thought of Ben running the doses fired up your anger. You'd gotten along with the head doctor, but something about him always rubbed you the wrong way.

"I need to sleep on it," you mumbled. Maria patted your shoulder comfortingly as you trudged into the shared bedroom.

Foolish of you to think you could sleep. You tossed for an hour before giving up frustratedly. The sheets were twisted around your ankles and cold sweat had dried uncomfortably under your sleep shirt. Maria had left around seven, supposedly for a get-together.

The sink dripped quietly in the background. Low light from the oven glowed ominously. You shivered. Padding to the sink, you poured yourself a cup of water and drank, easing your shaky nerves. There was leftover pizza which you devoured in minutes.

I hope he's okay.

You buried your head in your arms, anxiety knotting tight and sharp under your ribs. It felt like all the air had been vacuum sealed out of the room.

Breathe.

Shoving away from the table, you slipped on your shoes and left, trying to clear the brain fog. A walk would be nice. The light had faded outside, and the HQ was asleep. The air conditioning hummed and faint sounds of the machinery was clicking, but everyone had gone to bed.

Out of habit, you felt yourself ducking down the medbay hall. The windows were all shuttered and the lights flicked off, an eerie blue glow under the doors. You'd never noticed how similar to a morgue the bay was. Unmarked doors, solemn workers and hushed voices.

You shivered again. Your footsteps paused, and you found yourself outside of a very familiar door.

Don't. Just go home. He's sleeping.

You can't.

Not having an ID made it impossible to unlock any doors. You pressed a hand to the small window, condensation from your nose fogging the glass. The faint beeps of his monitors could be heard if you pressed close enough. A small piece of your heart broke as you listened to the rhythmic beeps.

Your hand brushed against the doorknob. A small eep when the door pushed open. It hadn't locked.

Whoever had last checked on him hadn't locked his room properly.

Keep walking. Turn around. Don't.

Just a peek. You'd just take a peek. Toeing the door open, you clicked it gently shut and tiptoed closer.

Miguel was still pale and clammy, but the machinery had been reduced. You could smell his bandages from the doorway. Rot. He was neglected. The slow beat of your worry picked up the pace. Why hadn't anybody changed his bedding?

Something was up.

Impulsively, you smoothed the sheets around his arms and pushed sweaty hair off his forehead. His skin was flaming, and you flinched back.

Something hot and thick closed around your wrist. You froze, his hand holding your arm loosely. Miguel's brow furrowed with pain as he tried to keep his eyes open, and you gently prompted him to go back to sleep.

His irises were muddy with pain - sharp scarlet turned a rusty brown.

You patted his hand and peeled off his sweaty fingers, shushing when he groaned.

"Hang on," you whispered.

Breath held, you quickly peeked into the hall. Still empty. Holy fuck this is such a bad idea.

Closing the door quietly, you tiptoed over and carefully pulled an empty syringe out of the blood kit on the counter. Snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves, you pulled his wrist into your grasp and felt for a vein. You tried to add pressure to coax the blood flow. In a long, slow exhale, you swiftly drew up a few milliliters of blood. Miguel barely flinched, fingers twitching in sleep.

You pocketed the syringe and slipped out of his room. Ben had taken your badge but he hadn't taken your coat or your lanyard. You could still - as long as a tech didn't look to close - apply for a blood scan.

If Ben wouldn't tell you what he'd dosed Miguel with, you could figure it out yourself.

The bags for lab requests were in an unlocked office. You scribbled out a report, fudged a couple of numbers and slipped it into the stack of waiting transfers. Quick as you came, you disappeared out the door and back into the hall.

A few late-shift nurses waved at you, unknowing of recent transgressions. You kept your face calm, not betraying the stampede underneath. A few minutes later you were back in bed, adrenaline pumping after your escapade.

You woke up with cottonmouth the next morning. After downing a second glass of water and waving off a concerned glance from your roommate, you shook off the despair and tried to piece together what was going on.

Labs were backed up, hopefully you'd have the results by tomorrow. If all went well and the techs were their usual inattentive selves, nobody would notice your unauthorized request.

As the clock ticked, your guts twisted. Your gaze slid to the mess of Miguel's file on your floor. Jumping off of your bunk, you crouched over the sheafs of paper.

Curious, you picked one up off the pile. If Miguel's infection was even close to the severity that Ben had implied, he'd definitely have symptoms outside of a mid-grade fever and weight loss. That was standard. None of the nurse reports you or your coworkers filed had any reports of indigestion, bloody vomit, or something that would explain away his wound.

Huh.

Miguel hadn't hallucinated, fainted, developed lesions or rashes. The testing of the venom proved that red rashes and a pox were a symptom of exposure.

O'Hara's symptoms listed none of the above.

Puzzled, you flipped through his information until the mission report resurfaced.

Impaled on left side of sternum with approx. 8 inches of rebar.

His wound was on the right side.

Either somebody did not know their directions or somebody lied.

Miguel had one of the fastest healing metabolisms of anyone on the team. Probably the fastest. An impalement would have healed in hours. By the time he'd arrived at your office, his left side was fine. His right side had a wound. There was copious scar tissue all over his chest. The original wound would have been disguised easily.

Did he get injured again? It would have been in the mission report.

Unless it happened after the mission.

Dr. Ben had been first on the scene. He'd personally transported Miguel to the medbay. After that was the first contact any other medical personnel had with O'Hara.

Hands shaky, you dialed Maria.

"Hey," you jumped when she answered, "where's Dr. Ben?"

Maria hummed, ducking away from her phone. "I got him," she said, "what's up?"

Holding up Miguel's file, you swallowed thickly. "Wh...how big was the rebar that Miguel was impaled with originally?"

8. 8 inches. Say it.

"Twelve, why?"

"Nothing," you whispered, hanging up.

Bingo.

The two wounds were different. Miguel had not been infected by the original impalement.

It had been done intentionally.

You slid down in your chair. "Oh my god."

There was a notification in your inbox the next morning. Spitting out your morning toast, you opened up the lab report.

Hemoglobin, normal, oxygen, normal....the sedatives you'd been using were listed, an abnormally high sodium level - circle back later - and-

compound r4 status: abnormal.

Compound r4 was a norepinephrine regulator given to anomalies to control rage. NE was lowered to calm them down so that the spiders could transport them easily. However, if overdosed it had an opposite reaction.

Why would Miguel need r4?

"...has attitude problems, as I'm sure you know..."

Your stomach had plummeted through the floor as the fog slowly cleared. His sodium levels were high because the drug you'd been administering was a false. Just a saline solution, no antibiotic. His iron levels were normal, even though he'd been losing blood.

Miguel was fine. There was no infection, the venom had not come in contact with his wound. Somebody had staged the effects.

Ben.

I SWEAR I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT YOU GUYS I JUST DUG MYSELF DEEPER IN THIS PILE OF GOD KNOWS WHAT AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO GET OUT

i love you xox

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @ridiculous-hibiscus @seeeuspaceecowboyyy @neeshsoodrippedout @llumetrii

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #angst #tension #correct medical scenarios #reader is female #series

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rommahh · 3 years

Text

I Carry Your Heart

Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 4k

{Ahhhh ok so this is my first work like ever. There will definitely be a second part because ive got more to say and it needs a second part. I hope whoever sees and reads this imagine enjoys it. I appreciate comments, likes, reblogs, ideas on what could go into the story, and any form of help and redirection as to how i should write things. Much love, R.}.

Part two

All Y/N wanted tonight was to hang out with her boyfriend, eat a mass amount of junk food, and watch a marvel movie or two. That was all she wanted and that was all she asked of her boyfriend. Instead of any of that happening, she found herself sitting on the nasty kitchen island of her boyfriend's frat at a party that she was trying to avoid going to.

This party was supposedly ‘the party of the year.’ The last rager before finals and then christmas break. Y/N had spent the whole week studying and finishing up end of semester projects hence the want for a chill night. When Harry came to her saying his frat was throwing a party tonight and that he just HAD to be here, Y/N didn't feel like she had a choice but to let him go. She came because she thought this would be the only time she would be able to have some time with Harry after a long week of barely seeing each other. With two vastly different majors, the couple wasnt able to find a lot of time in the middle of school work to make time for just the two of them. Obviously her hopes of quality time with her man were futile because here she was sitting by herself in the kitchen of the frat while Harry drank and got high with his friends in other parts of the house.

Of course she was disappointed. She felt a knot in her throat and a weight on her chest just sitting there in that kitchen. Her white claw was warm now- not that it was any cold when she opened it. She was starting to form a small headache from the too loud music and the ache in her heart was growing.

She stood from the countertop on the search for her boyfriend, hoping he wasn't too far gone from sober. Wiping the back of her jeans from anything that was left on the island, she began walking around the house. She doesn't remember the last time the two of them spent time together by themselves. Of course they occasionally ate dinner together in the dining hall but they were normally surrounded by friends. Y/N wanted to be alone with her boyfriend to talk and bask in his presence.

After pushing through groups of partying humans, she found Harry and at least ten other people sitting around playing some sort of drinking game.

“Y/N! Where have you been?” Luca, one of Harry's frat brothers yelled out to her from the circle. Luca was cool, he was one of the only tolerable boys in this frat aside from Harry. Hearing his girlfriend's name, Harry turned around from where he sat on the ground and reached out for his girlfriend to sit beside him. Much to Y/N’s dismay, Harry was wasted. His eyes were half mass and his words bumped and slurred together. “We are playing truth or dare, wanna play?” Luca asked.

“I don't wanna play but Ill sit and watch.” Sitting next to her boyfriend, she grabbed one of his hands holding it in her lap. She was annoyed at him but it did her no good to show it when he was this drunk.

This game of truth or dare was childish. Dares of licking people's shoes and taking multiple shots had been done and truths about money and relationships were being spilled among the group. It had finally become Harry’s turn to do something, making Y/N tense.

“Ok Harry, I dare you to…” One drunk frat boy started looking around the room trying to come up with something clever. His eyes landed on a pretty girl in the room, Yara, a stuck up girl who for sure got her way no matter what. “I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room- obviously not your girlfriend because that defeats the purpose.” The frat boy smirked knowing what his intentions were. Everyone in the group giggles and gasped shocked by the dare but ready to see what was going to go down. Y/N’s brows furrowed as she became angry with the stupid dare.

The ache in her chest seemed to tip over the edge when she felt her boyfriend in the room move to stand up. She grabbed at the bottom of his shirt as a way of stopping him. Harry halted his movements to look down at his girlfriend. He giggled a little.

“You’re not actually going to do this right?” She asked Harry with wide eyes of shock. Harry laughed at her like she made a joke, making her heart hurt even more.”Harry I do not want you to do this just take the shot and lose the dare.” Her tone held warning.

“Don't be silly of course I'm going to. It's just a dare, nothing serious. Don't be so clingy.” He stood walking over to Yara and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. Yara gripped Harry’s shirt and kissed him harder. The kiss went on for a few more seconds, the room absolutely silent out of shock. Harry stepped back from Yara slightly sobering up from his actions. Yara smirked at Y/N, hand gliding down the front of Harry's shirt.

Y/N stood from the seat she was in and scoffed. Scoffed because she should've known Harry would do something like this. Scoffed because it hurt to see her boyfriend do something so careless without any regard for his girl's feelings. She pulled herself together, feeling her throat tighten once again. She was quick to leave the room and down the hall of the frat.

Harry's clumsy steps could be heard from behind her as he mumbled her name. Or at least he tried to. He was still so out of it, his words not making much sense. Y/N was crying now, the strength that she had slowly dissolving as she walked further away from her boyfriend.

“Y/N wait. P-please wait. I cant-” Harry stumbled over his legs behind her falling into the grass of the front yard. The girl couldn't help but turn around looking at her stupid boyfriend. She was choking on sobs now. She wasn't crying over a measly little kiss but over an extreme amount of burnout from school and exhaustion from simply existing. She was crying because her boyfriend ignored her boundaries, crushing and erasing the boundaries she had set in their relationship. Harry tried reaching for her once she had stopped walking. His hand clasped around her wrist, he laid his head down on her shoulder. He hated seeing her cry even if he was too drunk to see why.

“Baby don't leave, Im-Im Sorry.” He hiccuped and burped due to the alcohol. Y/N felt her rage build. Shoving Harry off of her, she crossed her arms across her chest as a way to shield herself from Harry physically. He was hurt by her distance and the wall she put up around her.

“You're an idiot Harry. An idiot!” her sobs grew louder, some stray party goers watching in amusement- some even snapchatting it for shits and giggles. “I didnt want you to kiss her and you did. What provoked you to think that was ok? All I wanted was for us to hang out tonight and just be us and you did this!” She was yelling now. Her hurt is beyond her now. Anger and rage simmered throughout her body making her head dizzy and her fingers curl within themselves. She didnt like being angry. It wasn't an emotion she liked acting on, it felt impersonal.

“Baby I don't under-” Before Harry could finish his sentence he was barfing at his feet. Y/N stepped back disgusted with her boyfriend. She couldn't even feel remorseful because of how angry she was. Luca, the frat brother from earlier, caught up with Harry and his girl only to find Harry doubled over heaving. Luca wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders.

“I'm sorry Luca but I can't do this tonight. Can you please make sure he gets some water and goes to bed. I-I can't do it tonight, I wish I could but I can't.” Y/N didn't want to leave her boyfriend in this state but she didn't deserve this. She wasn't going to care for her drunk boyfriend when all she wanted to do was care for herself. Selfishly, she enjoyed seeing him this way because of the anger he caused her.

Luca shook his head in understandment. “Of course, I'm really sorry for tonight. He's going to seriously regret this in the morning, especially since it will be circulating all over snapchat in the morning.” Luca waved to Y/N then proceeded to pull Harry into the house. Harry called out for Y/N not wanting to be away from her but Luca pulled him harder.

Harry woke up the next morning feeling like the bottom of a dumpster. He wasn't shocked by that. He knew he got trashed last night, he had planned to. He, just like Y/N, spent all week studying and completing projects while also fulfilling certain responsibilities for his frat. He wanted one night to be a normal teen. So he drank and drank and drank and maybe even smoked some weed. As he tried to recall last night's events he came up with nothing. He didn't understand why Y/N wasn't here with him like she normally would after a party on the weekend. They were normally always together during the weekend. A bad feeling loomed over him. He could tell something wasn't right but decided to put his feelings to the side.

He saw a bottle of water beside his bed making him think she was probably here and left early. Chugging the water he started to go through his socials to see if anyone had posted about the party. He had multiple tagged pics and videos in his notifications from snapchat. Way more than he normally would.

The first video he saw was a video of him and Y/N standing in the front yard of the frat house. Turning the volume all the way up he could hear Y/N yelling, it shocked him. She doesn't normally raise her voice, especially not at him. The angle changed showing her face which was red with anger, eyes filled with unshed tears. He could hear her yelling about him kissing someone else. He felt his heart stop. He had kissed someone else? On the next snap was a picture of him keeled over vomiting on his shoes with the caption saying, ‘are yall seeing this shit?’ Harry was embarrassed but he was more concerned than anything.

His head was hurting but it didn't stop him from rolling out of bed, washing up, and putting on a fresh set of clothes. He checked his phone hoping Y/N had messaged him but nothing was there. He walked into the kitchen only to see luca sitting at the counter eating cereal.

“Hey Harry….” Luca said warily. Luca pushed the cereal around his bowl feeling the tension begin to rise in the room. He felt horrible about his friends.

“Luca...what's up?” Harry was confused by Lucas' wariness.

“So do you remember anything about last night?” Luca asked, setting his cereal down in the sink behind him. Harry started playing with the frayed edges of a bracelet Y/N made for him. It had little beads with her name on it. They made them together at an event on campus.

“I don't, I only saw the videos of Y/N screaming at me. I think I fucked up but I- I don't know what happened.” Harry's cheek flushed with even more embarrassment. Luca awkwardly chuckled scratching the back of his neck.

“You got dared to kiss the hottest girl in the room and um actually did it in front of Y/N...even though she didn't want you to. Which led you guys outside and yeah you know the rest...Im sorry dude, I wish I had stopped you.”

“Who- who did I kiss?” Harrys stomach lurched when he heard Yara’s name come out of Lucas' name. Y/N didn't like Yara and it was understandable. Yara has been pining after Harry since their first year of college. Harry couldn't breathe. He felt disgusted with himself. He could only imagine how Y/N was feeling.

Y/N woke up the same morning, eyes puffy and crusty from tears and head hurting. She probably cried herself into dehydration. She was lucky enough to have no roommate because she wouldn't have wanted someone else to see her breakdown. She still couldn't believe last night went down the way it went down. She couldn't tell if she was just being overdramatic or if her emotions were in the right place. She didn't want to be mad at Harry. He was everything to her, she had an odd connection to him. Meeting him during their freshman welcome week they quickly became best friends with a growing romantic connection in the mix. They started dating before Christmas break. They had grown close so fast that he even came home with her to meet her family for the first few days of break. Even though they were in their junior year of college, Y/N could see them beyond college. She's imagined them getting married, travelling, sharing a home. She saw the whole future with him. She had her doubts though. He was immature just like every other boy in college. He was dumb with his actions and tended to only do things if they benefited him. He had a lot of growing to do as a person, so did she but she wanted to grow with him.

She heard a knock on her door hesitating to answer it because one, it could be Harry, and two, she looked like a wreck. Answering anyways, she was met with a very sorry looking Harry holding a small coffee and bagel from their cafe.

“Hi baby…” He sheepishly said holding out the items. She silently let him through the door not once looking him in the eye. He stepped into her room, setting her treats on her desk. He could see that her bed was messy meaning she recently woke up. Y/N never went about her day without making her bed. He turned back to her and finally their eyes met. He took in all of her facial features, from her puffy eyes, to her downturned lips that looked chapped, to her flushed cheeks that longed to be held for warmth. He hated to see her like this, the last time he saw her so upset was when her parents moved out of her childhood home. It took alot to make Y/N this upset. She was normally really headstrong and vigilant. She knew how to ease her way out of problematic situations and could talk her way through anything.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Y/N holding her hand up in front of his face. “Don't talk. I'm really hurt Harry, so if your plan was to come over here and apologize over bagels- think again.” She snapped, backing up to put space between the two of them. She sat down on her bed while Harry pulled the desk chair out and sat down. He much preferred to be on the bed with her holding her tight but he didn't want to overstep boundaries.

“Love, I don't know where to begin. I'm really sorry for what happened last night. I was really drunk and obviously wasn't in the right headspace.” Harry reached out and touched the tips of her fingers with his. She wanted to move but it felt good to be touched by Harry.

“I told you that a measly little apology won't do Harry. I didn't want you to kiss Yara and you did anyway. You know how Yara feels about you and you just let it happen!” She pulled her hand away remembering the prior night's events. Harry felt himself getting angry too. He felt like he needed to defend himself- even though it would be a very bad idea.

“I think you're being over dramatic.” Wrong move Harry. “It wasn't like I was making out with her!”

“You're joking right?” She scoffed and scooted further up her bed to create more distance. “Harry it's the simple fact that you did something that made me uncomfortable that shouldn't have even happened. I see myself getting married to you and it makes me worry that right now in our relationship you can't respect my boundaries!” She yelled. Harry’s eyes widened as he laughed sarcastically.

“Married? What the fuck are you on about? I'm a junior in college. In what world would it make sense for me to be prepping a relationship for marriage? Once again I think you're being over dramatic.” Her eyes watered hearing Harry's statement.

“I- I guess I'm the only one in this relationship thinking about the future? I thought we were on the same page. I'm not planning our marriage now, obviously. I'm thinking about how elements of our relationship now could play out in the future when we do want to get married. You cheated on me last night. I went to a party you begged ME to go to only to be there for you. I wanted to be here cuddling with you, pigging out on fast food but I was at a party with you and got cheated on!” Her volume rises once again, making Harry shove his chair from underneath him when he stands up.

“You're doing too much right now. I'm not planning a future right now because I don't want this future! I want to be myself without thinking about how to appease my girlfriend. I invited you to the party so you could lighten the fuck up. I love you, I do, but I'm not thinking of marriage and futures. I'm thinking about my life right now and having fun.” Harry snapped right back at her. Her chin wobbled. Obviously her and Harry were on different pages. It hurt so much to hear him say that he didn't want a future with her. Harry didn't mean it though.

“Ok, well I guess that's my fault for assuming we were thinking along the same lines. Um, I don't want to hold you back from being yourself so with that being said, you are a free man Harry.” She pushed herself up from her bed walking to the door ready to escort Harry out.

“Huh? Love, what?” Harry was confused on how they got to this point. Just a few days ago they were in love, meeting in the library to share a lunch and exchanging sweet words determined by their love.

“Listen I have a day full of exams tomorrow so if you could just leave that would be best. You don't really want this so I'm letting you go, Harry.” She had tears rolling down her face, falling from her eyes down to her chin where they fell to the ground in droplets. Harry’s eyes welled up watching his love cry before him.

“I don't-”

“Harry, leave, please.” She opened the door making room for him to go through. He walked through the door turning to look at her. She turned her face away from him whispering a small goodbye before shutting the door. Harry was left in the silent hallway, so silent he could hear his thoughts and the tears hitting the tile floor beneath him. He thinks he stood there for at least thirty more minutes before accepting what had happened and walking away.

Leaving Y/N in her room sobbing like she had never done before. Her tears coated her face and she thought her head could explode right then and there. She didn't want to accept what had happened but she had priorities. She composed herself enough to start studying for her exams.

The week rolled by quickly, Monday meeting Friday in a flash. Exams were done and Christmas break was on the horizon. Students were piling off of campus in a hurry ready to get home to their loved ones. People were outside by cars loading up their winter necessaries and saying their goodbyes to their close friends.

Harry cried everyday this week. He wasn't normally a crier. He hated crying, he hated the feeling of crying and the headache that came from it. He cried because he realized how wrong he was. He missed Y/N. He missed finals week dinner together where they tried to get off campus at least once and be alone for a moment. He missed watching her relax while eating food that wasn't from their school's cafeteria. He would pay for their meal just so she could have one less thing to worry about. They would normally get frozen yogurt right after too, Y/N getting as many toppings as she wanted because Harry would be the one paying. He missed her tight after exam hugs. She would squeeze his shoulders tight, smiling into his neck, telling him how proud she was of him. She would bring him tea in the morning when they met for breakfast. Sometimes they would spend the night in one or the others room so they could have time together to destress and just talk.

Y/N wasn't doing any better. She normally went into exam week feeling confident. She studied too hard not to. But this week she felt like shit. Her heart hurt and she kept thinking about the fight. She feels like she overreacted but hearing Harry talk about their lack of a future hurt nonetheless. She really assumed that they did have a future that included marriage and a life together. She didn't understand where his sudden lack of commitment came from. She regretted dumping him but at the same time she wished he did more to get them back together but he was silent. He hasn't contacted her at all and avoided all of their spots on campus all together.

She stood by her car prepping for her six hours car ride back home. Packing away her clothes and some essentials in the trunk of her car, she heard light footsteps behind her. Closing her trunk she turned to see Harry standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi.” He said. She looked at him, putting her own hands in her pockets. It was cold outside, the nippy air hinting at a possibility of snow.

“Hi Harry.” They shared a moment of silence together. Just staring at each other. It felt good to be near each other again. They felt like they could breathe again.

“I had to see you before you left. I know the break is only a month but I didn't want to leave without seeing you.” He replied quietly. She made him feel so shy. Her beauty always made him awestruck. Even in a hoodie with their college's logo and some large sweatpants and some fuzzy crocs, she was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“I don't know what to say harry.”

“It's ok. I don't deserve anything from you after what I said. I just wanted to apologize and wish you a good break before you left. I also wanted to give you this.” He pulled a small box and envelope out of the front pocket of his backpack. “I know we agreed on no presents but I think thats a dumb rule and I love you too much to not get you something.” She smiled at his words, taking the gift from his hands.

“Thank you Harry, it means a lot to me. So what are your plans for a break?” She asked him, the tension that was in the air slowly dissipating.

“I couldn't get a flight home until next wednesday so i'll stay here on campus until then.” He shrugged.

“Oh ok. Well tell Anne I said hi. I have to go Harry but I'll see you after the break, ok?” She didn't want to leave him but she didn't want to drive through the dark.

“Ok, love. Drive safe. I lov- I mean have a good break.” Her chest tightened at his hesitation. She wants to hear him say the words but she knows he won't.

“Have a good break Harry.” She whispered. Before getting in her car she stood on her toes placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Rubbing her thumb across his cheek and turning away and into her car.

She drove away knowing that her heart was left in that parking lot in the hands of someone she loves way too much.

Harry stood in the parking lot watching his heart drive away for winter wanting nothing more than to be with her.

Part two

#harry styles x reader #frat!harry #i carry your heart #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #college!harry #part 2 coming soon #harry styles smut #fratrry #boyfriend!harry

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hhjs · 4 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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girls-scenarios · 6 years

Text

Ignorance Isn’t Bliss

Prompt: Hi, can I request a friends with benefits angsty scenario with Blackpink's Jennie and fem reader. You can add smut if you want. Thank you💙💙💙

Writer: Admin Lee

A/N: I ended up leaving out the smut :( and also made this very sad! There’s some cursing and implied adult content, but other than that it’s just angsty. Jennie might be a little OOC towards the end (and the ending was a little rushed) but it’s just to fit the prompt better. Hope you like it!

It was cold in her room, despite the events that had just transpired. Jennie had gone to shower, leaving you alone in the dark space, lit only by a dim lamp on her nightstand. You felt a little gross after the fact, both from the sweat drying on your body as you sat on the edge of the bed, and from the nagging feeling you had in the pit of your stomach; the one that made you feel like this whole thing was a mistake.

Wrapped deeply in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the door open, and didn’t register Jennie coming into the room wrapped in a towel.

“(Y/N)?” She called to you, but her voice was muffled.

She touched your shoulder gently, effectively snapping you out of the stupor you were in.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just tired.. what time is it?” It was a half-lie and a distracting inquiry, meant to placate and avoid the truth of your unease.

“It’s almost 1 a.m.” She replied, turning from you grab some pajamas from her closet. “Are you going to shower?”

You got up, catching the used towel that Jennie threw your way and wrapping yourself in the slightly damp cloth.

“Yeah, I guess I will.”

The shower was warm, physically comforting you as the water washed over your skin. You feebly attempted to scrub the guilt away, rubbing until your skin was red, but to no avail. Everything stayed, stuck to you like glue; the most recent events, as well as the ones of days past. You didn’t want to realize that she was using you, didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that this situation wasn’t something good anymore. Really, you tried to hold out for her. You were friends - are friends. Couldn’t you talk to her? Maybe rethink the whole “benefit” addition to your friendship? You sigh, running your hands through your hair. This was a lot of heavy thinking for what, ten minutes? You should get out of the shower, you think. So you do, and you’re back in Jennie’s room within a couple of minutes.

“Hey,” you greet softly, not wanting to startle the girl, who was now reading in her bed. “Sorry I took so long.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. Feel better?”

You frown, which goes unseen by her.

“Yeah.” You tell her, but it’s a lie.

You’re up before anyone else in the morning, and work on extricating yourself from Jennie’s bed, careful not to wake her. Thankfully, she was a heavy sleeper. You then pad into the bathroom to brush your teeth and look a little more presentable before you ultimately leave to go back to your small apartment. When looking at your reflection in the mirror, you noticed there were bags under your eyes; unsurprising to you, because you had ended up not being able to sleep at all that night. Whether it was the overthinking or the extremely close proximity to the girl that was causing the overthinking, you couldn’t be sure. But, one thing could be said: you were dead tired. A nap would definitely be in order when you finally got home.

Upon finishing in the bathroom, you complete gathering your things before slipping out, still unnoticed by the 4 members of the household you were in.

At home, you distracted yourself until it was nearly noon. You decide to make lunch, hoping a warm meal will make you feel at least a little better. Though after eating, you found that the festering feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach isn’t sated by something so simple. You rush to your bathroom, that feeling now making you sick. And now when you look at yourself in the mirror, you notice the ugly bruises that mar your skin; becoming more visible from where she was a little too rough with you last night.

But if all of this was something you agreed to, why now did you regret it so much? Whatever. It happened, it’s over. For the moment, at least.

You needed a nap, you remember.

When you wake up it’s 8:00 p.m. You check your phone; there’s 3 missed calls and 6 texts from her.

1:30 p.m.

Jennie: (Y/N) where did u go??

Jennie: did you just leave?

Jennie: u didn’t even say goodbye :(

4:23 p.m.

Jennie: is smthn wrong?

5:10 p.m.

Jennie: (Y/N) pls answer my calls

Jennie: im worried.

It’d be decent of you to let her know you’re alright, so you give her a call back. The line on the other end rings for a few seconds before it’s answered.

“(Y/N)? God, I was really worried.. Why’d you leave without letting me know?”

“I’m sorry. I had some work at home I needed to take care of. I would have woken you up, but we were both up late and you looked like you needed some sleep.”

“Oh,” She replied, calmer now. “Well, I’m glad you got home safe,” Jennie hesitated, seemingly about to say something else. An awkward silence loomed over the two of you, the only sound being made by the soft static of the phone. “Um, the members and I were going to go out to dinner.. Did you have any plans?” Jennie asked with a nervous lilt to her voice.

You weigh your options for a moment, should you go, or stay? Going would mean pushing down those ugly feelings once again, denying yourself the solace of a silent evening in your own home; a safe space free of anything that reminded you of her. Staying would mean you could try to forget.

“I can’t.. I’m really sorry,”

Sorry. You were always sorry. “Maybe some other time? I just really have some stuff I have to finish before the week is out.”

“Oh, uh, yeah of course!” You hear. It’s a weak attempt at sounding positive even though you know she’s disappointed. “I hope you finish everything you need to.”

“Thank you, have fun at dinner.” You reply, saying your goodbyes and hanging up the phone.

The rest of the night is spent in your bed. You’re not able to sleep thanks to the nap you took, so you watch a movie, play on your phone, pretty much whatever to keep you distracted from the stuff that’s really bothering you. But eventually, you’re bored and you end up staring at the ceiling, thinking once more about everything.

I didn’t expect it to bother me this much, but here we are.

I still like Jennie, I think. Maybe just as friends. I want to be friends with her.

I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. The bruises are sore and the marks are still there.

There’s no way I can actually talk to her about it though. She’d be disappointed. I can’t disappoint her.

These thoughts are all scrambled as they switch places in the forefront of your mind; they stress you out, make you feel sick again, but you just lay there and deal with it.

You wake up once again with barely any restful sleep. Following your normal routine, you get ready, eat, check your phone, etc. It’s a pretty mundane day so far, nothing’s particularly bothering you (you know that’s not necessarily true, but in the moment, you’re fine).

Until you hear a knock at your door.

Your heart drops when you realize it could only be one person: Jennie. Getting up from the couch, you walk to the door and open it, finding her just behind it.

“Hey.”

“Hey, uh, come in.”

You step aside and gesture for her to come inside, closing the door behind her.

“I know something’s been going on with you. You’re usually not so distant,” She paused, looking down. “Was it because of what happened two days ago? I thought we both felt the same way about it.”

You sit back down on the couch after following her to your living room.

“Jennie. I’m bad at this kind of stuff, you know. I just didn’t really know how to act. I didn’t think you’d come over..”

“Why wouldn’t I? I was worried.”

“This isn’t working out anymore.” You tell her, rushing your words and starting to feel clammy because it hurts you to say the words you’ve been holding in for so long.

She looks at you, shocked. You could only imagine what must be running through her head right now.

“I don’t know what you mean.. what isn’t?” Jennie asks, her voice unusually timid and small.

And now for the waterworks. Everything had just been building up before now, and you couldn’t hold back. You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes, and seconds later they were streaming down your cheeks.

“I just - everything that’s happened lately has been.. a lot. I think we moved a little too fast and at first I was okay - I was fine with everything. I don’t know what changed but… are you using me Jennie?”

It was really just word-vomit at this point. And who could blame you? You were running on nerves for the most part, and on the verge of really breaking down.

Her jaw dropped.

“Are you fucking serious? How could you think - No, of course I’m not!”

You flinched when she rose her voice. God, that must have looked pathetic.

“I’m sorry. I just thought - I don’t know what I thought.”

“Yeah, it’s apparent,” Jennie bit back, tone laced with hostility. “You know what? I’m done. Talk to me when you’re not being so fucking difficult, (Y/N).”

She turned on her heels and walked out the door, leaving you with no time to react or reply in any way. It hurt a lot, to say the least. However, it’s not surprising. Jennie was using you, you were sure, so matter what she told you moments ago. You sighed, now being left with nothing but a broken spirit and aching body. What were you supposed to do now? Jennie was gone. You didn’t particularly want her to return, but it was more than a little upsetting to see your friend of nearly 2 years leave you like that.

Some things just happen though, and you’ve come to discover now that ignorance isn’t bliss.

#blackpink #jennie #blackpink jennie #Jennie Kim #blackpink scenario #blackpink scenarios #blackpink jennie scenario #blackpink jennie scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop girl groups #girl groups #kpop scenario

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britbrodcast · 7 years

Text

Friday The 13th

Hey! i’ts the li nobody here with another horror/angst fic!

tags: @what-even-is-thiss @fandomsandanythingelse @prinxiety-logicality-ss @lackingroman @analogically-prinxiety @parsnipit @softlogic @6midnight-alpha6

TW: extreme violence, mentions of hanging and impalement , lots and lots of blood, guts, murder, gruesome detail, slow killing off characters one by one.

im %100 serious when I say that this is very bloody and there is graphic descriptions of gruesome murder, if you think reading a fic with the warnings above might not be a good idea then please. Do. Not. Read.

Anxiety knew something bad was going to happen to him, he'd managed to trip over his black cat named Curiosity, he tried to fix a broken umbrella and opened it indoors, he stepped on a handheld mirror walking to the commons, he walked under a ladder while Prince was painting a mural on the wall, he broke the salt shaker while trying to find cereal, and to sweeten the pot of bad luck the day was Friday the 13th.

Anxiety told the others about what happened and they all laughed knowing that most bad luck omens are fake, but what they didn't know is Anxiety's shadow had disappeared and a strange figure that showed on the walls was holding a knife and it appeared to be laughing.

No one noticed Anxiety's disappearance until Morality finally convinced the others to check up on him and found him in his closet with a gag in his mouth and a dark figure whispering next to him, "No one cares about you, you're unwanted, nobody has checked on you yet so why would they come now?" They untied the ropes holding Anxiety and after that they never let him out of their sight...

That was the wrong thing to do, when Logic wasn't heard from for two days Prince came to check up on him and what he saw made him scream.

Logic's body was hanging from the ceiling fan slowly rotating and his throat was slit, no blood was falling but the circle splatter on the floor showed that he was quickly put up there after the blade had cut his neck.

The others quickly ran to Prince's scream, Morality fainted and Anxiety ran to the nearest bathroom and threw up.

After a year of the murder the Traits hadn't gotten over the death of Logan, the worst thing is that he was still with them, floating around as a dark blue hologram like figure and speaking in a language that wasn't known to man. The worst thing about it was that he had a cut on his neck the same as to his body before death but it constantly dripped blue blood which would vanish before it even touched the floor, his jaw was bruised, and when he lifted his shirt you could see a hole shape of a hand in his abdomen as if someone had cut the shape or someone ripped through his skin and took something out, that thing was his small intestines which looked like they were in the process of falling out but they were permanently stuck there as if he couldn't even touch it or put it back in place.

The next Friday the 13th was in two days, they had found how to communicate with Logan, Prince held a recording device next to the shimmering ghost and explained that he had seen something of the sort happening in movies and books but a strange idea was all he had.

He started the recording "Hey Logic, what's my favorite Disney song?" *g͢a͘͟͠r̡b̸l͜͠e̢҉͢d̷͜͠ ̢s̵p̵ee̕͢c̶̨h̡͝͠"̨͏̀ ͜͜͞

He stopped the recording and played it, "Hey Logic, what's my favorite Disney song?" "All of t̶he̡m b̵u͏t҉ ͞wh҉y ͟wo̕uĺd ͠y҉o͢u c͘are, f́o͡r som̢e re̡as̶on y̴ou can͢'͢t͘ ̧u͘n̡d͢ers̛t͝a͏nd ̨me."̛

Logan made a sound that was easily noticed as yell of triumph

He pointed at the record button and prince did so *g͜aŗbled͢ ̛g̕ib̷be̢ri̸s҉h f͡o̶r͡ a lo͞n̕g t̵i̧m͟e* After a few minutes he pointed at the stop button, Roman did as he asked.

Roman pressed play, "O̡hm͘ygod͏yǫu̡c͢a̧n̸hear̴m̷e I'͠v̴e ̧be͠e̢n͘ t̨a͝lki̡ng͜ ̢to ̀y̕ou̕ norm̨a͝lly ̨b̨ut͘ ҉f͞o͜r̴ ̷s̀omè ͜r̢eas̡o͘n y͢o҉u ͏ça̢n̡'t un̷der͢s͠t͝and me̴, what҉ h̕a͞p͢p͟en͜e̛d t̴o̶ ̨ḿe?! ̧I l̸ơo҉k n͜o̶rmal͘ t̡o ̷m͝ys͡e̢l̸f͜ ̴but̵ I ̸ca̛n'̡t s̡ee ́my̸se͟lf͡ ̵i̸n a͞ny refle͜ct̕ive҉ ́sur̨face ̵a͝n̕d̨ w̷h́ene͘v̛e҉r I ̢loơk҉ a͞t ̡m͜y҉ ̶abd̡o͝me͜n ̛wit̕ho̸ut m̀y̶ ͜s͞h̷ir͝t̵ ͟t̛h̸e wor͞ĺd see̴m͞s to̸ ̢b̷l͢ur͢ ̶ąnd ͘canc͠el out͏ ̧my̕ v́i̛s̛io҉n̢, Ro̴man̴,̛ what'̷s h́a͠pp̀e͟ne͜d̸ ͢tò m̢e͟?!͘"̵ ͢ The recording ended.

Roman had to bite back a sob, Logan didn't know he was dead, he couldn't see himself in any reflective surfaces or see his abdomen which meant he couldn't see his injuries and to top it all off, he was acting frantic and he acted just like Anxiety, no fancy words and I'm a strange way his voice started to fill with hope the more he spoke.

Roman stood up, "I need to tell the others that I can talk with you, could you stay here?" Logan nodded and watched Prince leave, he waited for a half and hour and he was starting to get uneasy, when it reached the fourth five mark he gave up staying put and went out to find Prince, when he did he screamed, to the others it sounded like very loud static.

Logic ran to the words that he presumed had been his last effort, the words "p̷̡҉͘r͘͏e̴̶s̶̨̕͟ş͘ ̸́̀͘̕ṕ҉̨ļ̴̨̨͝a̴̡͝ý̡̧͟" were written in his own blood. An arrow pointed up where the voice recorder lay. A bloody finger print was seen on the start recording and stop recording buttons, there was a problem. The recorder looked as if it was cut in half by a sword. Prince's last efforts were for nothing.

He turned to his friend, it was a gruesome scene. His body was held onto a staircase by his red sash which tied around the banister of the railing, the other end of the sash was wrapped around his neck, his shirt was removed showing that his attacked had cut the shape of a crown into his chest, above each prong of the crown was an object impaled into his flesh, all three were Roman's favorite trophies of war. the right object was a claw of a dragon witch, the middle was a tooth of a serpent that had been terrorizing his kingdom for fifty years prior, and the left was his favorite katana which skewered him and stuck him to the wall. Logan then looked up, Prince's throats was a mess of blood, tissue, and bone, it was clear that his vocal cords were ripped out. Logan then realized that this must've happened to him. He was dead.

Romans ghost came around a week after he died, his lack of voice box lady him unable to speak but he communicated in another way that the others were not fond of, whenever he wanted to say something he would dip a finger into the gaping wound in his neck and write on the nearest surface, the blood would always vanish a few minutes after he wrote.

One day Anxiety asked Prince if he remembered the night he died he wrote "caǹ'͡t ̧reme͢mb͡e̷r, o͡ņly fel͜t p̵a̛i͠n. ͏Theń ̷w͞o͟k̡ę up͡ h͡eŗe͏."͞

Prince showed the others how to talk with Logic, even though he was able to talk in a way to the others he didn't want to be Logans translator.

*Timeskip brought to you by the next characters death*

Anxiety used to love his room, the Bright white place always gave him a sense of calm whenever he entered, but ever since Logans death the room seemed to whisper to him and set his nerves on edge. The room was slowly turning a shade of grey, He never stayed in his room for more than three days, the darkness and shadows started to engulf him whenever he set foot into the room.

He was laying in his bed reading a rant on tumblr when he noticed a corner in his room which was full of light had a dark blob like a shadow, as he watched the blob turned into a shape of a person, the shadow crawled up the wall and solidified into a black mass right next to him. A searing pain on his neck made him scream, then the pain grew and grew and grew until he passed out from the pain. The world went black for the last time.

After a day Morality was starting to get worried, Anxiety came to every meal but today he didn't even leave his room for a snack. Pat walked to Virgil's room and knocked on the door.

"Anx are you asleep?" No answer. He opened the door and saw to his surprise a bright white room, his eyes landed on the only non-white thing in the room, Anxiety and his bed. He relaxed for a moment since Anxiety's back was to him. But he couldn't be sleeping, he heard no breathing, and the color of his bed was a deep crimson. When he first saw it he thought it was just the color of the bedsheets, until he saw the red liquid pooling around the bed.

He ran to Anxiety and when he saw him he vomited. "Nononononononononononononowhyiseveryonedyingpleaseletthisbeabaddreampleaseletthisbeabaddream."

But it wasn't, Anxiety was dead and the sight of his friend made him hurl once more.

Anxiety's left arm was ripped off its socket and was shoved into a hole in his chest impaling his right lung, broken pieces of his rib cage held the ripped off limb in place. On his neck was a brand which was burned deeply into his flesh, morality could see bits of singed tendon and muscle along with burned flesh, the brand read 'Property Of' and nothing else, no name no nothing, as it was saying Property of Anxiety.

A black flower crown was embedded into his head by metal spikes, blood from the wound fell into his eyes, his mouth in a silent scream of pain.

Morality hugged his dead friend, ignoring the black blood that now seeped into his clothes. "I'm so sorry Anxiety," he kissed Virgils forehead carefully avoiding the blood that was still flowing down his head, "I was too late to save you like everyone else, I hope you can forgive me."

He let go of his dead friend and left the room.

The next day Anxiety was found floating near his room by Morality, he looked up and blinked some of the blood that obscured his vision, "g͢a͘͟͠r̡b̸l͜͠e̢҉͢d̷͜͠ ̢s̵p̵ee̕͢c̶̨h̡͝͠"̨͏̀ ͜͜͞

Morality unclipped the camera from his belt, you see, a few weeks after Prince's death they found out that devices that show you the footage of the recording while filming it will immediately give you the translation to the ghost speak unlike the voice recorder in which you'd have to wait until you pressed play and then you would hear the translated ghost gibberish.

Anxiety looked up at Morality, "I͡'̡m͜ d͞e͜a̧d ̕are͢ņ't ̢I͝?͡" ͟ Mor nodded. Anxiety wiped away more of the blood with his hand."F̶͟i͏g͟͢u̸͟r̡ed,͞ ̡̕w̧͞͏h̡͢e͏͏̕r҉è͡͞ ̨͢ar̀e ̨t̡͝hè͜͢ ̴o͘t̸͜her͏s̨?̵"̷̕͡

"How on earth are you not freaked out that you're dead?!" Mor demanded.

"My̷͢͏ ̴͟bra̡i̧҉n̕ ̧i͟͡ş͡ ķ́ind͘á̡ ̡͢n̵ù͞m̡b̵̵ ̵f̴ró͘͢m͏̶̀ th͏̀e̵̵͝ sh̸̢͟oc̛͘k͟,̢̀̕ ̷̧yǫ̶͘ų͘͜ ̡̛d͟i͢d̴͏n̕'͡t̨͘͘ ̢͘a̧n͜͞s̀͝͝w̶e̶͘r̸͜҉ ͘m̵͝ý͝ ́͜q͢u͏es͡͠t͘͟͝i̧ó̷͡ņ̕͠.́"̨͘͟ ̶̕͏ Morality thought for a moment, "The last time I saw them was the kitchen, I think they were trying to pick up grains of salt." Anxiety stood up and started to walk towards the kitchens and Mor followed.

When they got to the kitchens Anxiety froze, "T̴͞-́͠t̸͠h͠͞͏ey l̨̀o̢̨͘ò͠k͡͝ ̵̨l̵͜i͜k̴̢e͏͝ ͝͡tḩ̀é͟y̨͠ ͟w̢͝e̛ŗ̸͘e̕ ̴̀͜nęv͘͢e͟͝r҉ ̷͝k͟͡i̵͝l͏ĺ̴̕ȩ̕d." Anxiety ran to Prince and hugged him, to Morality it looked quite odd since the sword and Anxiety's arm seemed to phase through each other. "Y̕o҉u͡ h҉á͜v͜ȩ ͜͟n͜o̶ i̢d̕͟͠e͜a̷̢͞ ҉͏h̡o̧͏̧w ̵҉l̷͘o͝ng̕͠ ̶͠I ͞w̨ą͢͡ńt҉͢éd̢ ͡ţo̷̕ ̛ḑ͝o͘ ̴̀͘t̷͜hi̡s̷." Anxiety mumbled through what Mor guessed was his shirt. Roman froze, he walked over to the table and wrote Y͜͝-̶͝yo̵̵̡u̴͘'r̴͝e̕͏̶ ͟͝d͞ea̡d.̶"̡́ He turned to Patton and scribbled on a drawer ͟҉̢"͏̴͜Ex͠͏͠p͘l͘̕a̢͏̶ìn.̵"̸

The four talked until Patton's camera died.

*timeskip brought to you by the new outfits*

Morality used to love dreams, they would always comfort him when he was down and would never turn sour. That is until a few weeks ago. Nightmares started to invade his sleep, the cold hands of fear grabbed him and watched him suffer through vivid images and sleepless nights just to keep the horrid nightmares away. One day they would rip out his heart, the other they would tie him by his tie on a fan and slowly suffocate him, another they would tear off his arms and force him to run in a corridor of locked doors, and then he woke up. The only thing keeping him going was the thought "they are only bad dreams."

That is until he woke up from another nightmare when real hands grabbed him, hands that were so cold Morality thought they were made out of ice, he then saw a shadow that was holding something metal, a knife. The shadow brought the weapon down on his left eye and quickly after his right eye was also stabbed. Everything went black, not only from lack of sight but also from the pain of the shadow tearing ripping through his skin seeking out his heart.

When Patton 'woke up' he was able to see. He was confused since he remembered his eyes being injured by..... he couldn't remember. When he turned around his memory flew at him at full force since he was now looking at his corpse.

He ran to the nearest trash can and hurled, his shock from seeing his dead body made him not notice that he was able to actually touch the waste bin. His body looked like someone decided to randomly slice a knife on wherever part of him didn't have blood seeping over his being. Large deep cuts covered his arms, legs, and torso. His cardigan was wrapped around his neck and was stained bright blue with his blood, his eyes were closed so he couldn't see the stab wounds but blood poured from underneath his eyelids as if he was crying blood. His heart was ripped out of his chest, the wound was shaped like a cartoon heart. On top of his head lay a tiara with little red hearts on it and in the top tier of the tiara was a fist sized case that held his heart, but it was hard to tell from the blood covering most of the case. He couldn't stand the sight any longer, he left the room.

When he found the others they looked as Anxiety depicted, as if they had never been killed. They looked normal and not a single drop of blood was to be seen. He ran and jump hugged Logan, "̸͡I̵ ḿiś̶̸s͟e͏̶d̴ ̨y͘͏o̧u̶͟ ͏gu͞͠ys͝͞͠ ̛so͡ ̧m҉̴ùc̸h̡͝͠.̵͜"̷̧҉Mor whispered. Logan smiled, "A͏s̨̢͜ ̛d̢í̧͠d҉ ̶͢͜I̢͡͝.̀҉"

Bonus:

Thomas hadn't summoned his Traits in years, he just never had a reason to. A week ago he had felt as if his heart feel as if it was being ripped out but he brushed it off when nothing else happened but the worry still lingered. He recalled this and decided to see how the facets of his personality were doing.

When he summoned them they looked different, they seemed to glow and their feet didn't quite reach the floor. Thomas frowned as his concern grew. "What happened to you guys?!"

Morality pulled out a voice recorder, ever since they became ghosts they only were able to touch things they already had touched in real life, his camera was nowhere to be found so they fixed the one Roman used. Morality spoke "g͢a͘͟͠r̡b̸l͜͠e̢҉͢d̷͜͠ ̢s̵p̵ee̕͢c̶̨h̡͝͠"̨͏̀ ͜͜͞

Thomas thought this must be an elaborate prank until Mor pressed play on the recorder. "We'r͠e de҉ad. Í die҉d̵ a ̀wȩek̸ ́a͘go ͘an͏d the̵ ҉o͡t͠h͜èrs͘.̨..̸.͘ b̷e͟twȩen҉ three ́y͜ea̶rs̷ a̸nd͠ n͏ow. In ͞short҉,̀ we ͝àl̶l ̶kic̀k̛e̴d t̡ḩȩ ̴buc̷kȩt͠ f̧r̕o͜m̨ so͠me̡ ćr̛a͜zỳ ̵k̨illȩŗ shad͟ow.̴" Thomas's frowned deepened, "but I don't see any injuries."

The Traits looked at each other, Logic grabbed the recorder and spoke into it. "I̵..̢. ̕don͟'t t̶ḩink҉ ͏yo̴u̢'̀ll b͝e͏ a̛b҉le͘ ̢to ͡k͜ée͏p̸ you̷r ͜meal̴ ̢w̨h́ere ͡i̕t͝ ̢i͠s ҉a͡t̢ the͞ ̛çur̡re̷nt ̡mome͞n̷t ͠i̸f́ ̵w͜e ̢śh̨ow̧ y͏o͜u̶." Thomas scoffed, "Try me." The Traits were still weary but if Thomas said he could do it... they showed Thomas their true forms. Thomas shut his eyes almost instantly after seeing them. "Oh my god." They changed back to their non mutilated bodies, Thomas opened his eyes, "I never noticed this, in so sorry I should've realized-" Thomas paused, "Wait, how the heck did this even happen?!"

Virgil smirked and recorded himself, "I ͠h͏o̢pe ̵you ̷l̸ike̶ ́ho̢r̴ror͏ ͏an̴d ͏h́a̸v͜e͢ ̵not̸h̴in͘g to̵ d͡o ̧c̨aus̶e ̡th͠is͝'ll̢ ̷ta̢ke̡ á w͟h͝íle̷." ̢

#thomassanders #fic #sandersides #horror #angst

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writingthingsisdifficult · 7 years

Text

Shrinking - The teaspoon girl pt 5

A witch turns Y/N into a teaspoon sized woman, and Sam and Dean has to make sure she doesn’t get squashed – and find a cure.

Word count: 2226

Have another part – this one is a bit angstier than the others. Sorry about that. Hopefully part six isn’t too far away (I’m sorry – I’m a slow writer).

Please let me know what you think – and remember that I’m not English. Also let me know if you want on – or off – my tag list.

From part four:

Leaning back to look at him like Spiderman, she failed horribly at winking and snorted loudly. “Shhh…” she whisper-yelled. “I’m climbing Sam, can’t you see? Always wanted to – how can I not, I mean look at ‘im,” she continued, slurring slightly. “Mmm… just… muscles, y’know. And…”

She was interrupted by Sam, who surprisingly had turned the shade of a very ripe beetroot. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” he said, gently lifting her off his arm – she’d reached his elbow, and was trying to scramble over a fold in the fabric without falling down – and put her back on the table, where she promptly plopped down on her butt and groaned.

“Hey! Put me back! I’m trying to… I’m gonna… I wanna…” She grinned widely and blew him a loud kiss.

“You’re drunk,” Sam repeated.

“No, I’m not. You’re drunk. I’m… I’m –“ Shutting up abruptly, her eyes darted around frantically. “Bucket!” she mouthed, and then threw up all over herself.

A wet washcloth slapped down on the table, followed by a loud laugh that definitely belonged to Dean. The light hurt in Y/N’s eyes, and she felt increasingly dizzy, but being covered in vomit made nothing better, so she embraced the gesture – even with the laugh.

After wiping her face and discarding her trousers and the sweater, she felt much better. The cool air on her skin slowed the spinning room down to a manageable speed, and she dared to look up.

Dean was grinning, looking like he wanted to laugh so bad, but lacked the courage to do so. Sam was watching her intensely, and suddenly she felt extremely exposed, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting panties. His gaze was scrutinising, but when she made no signs to keel over, he relaxed a bit, and finally he smiled. “Time to put you to bed, huh?” he said, holding out his hand.

Y/N smiled back, feeling a surge of drunken courage. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sorry to break it to you, Sammy, but I’m a classy lady. You have to take me out on at least one date first.” With a satisfied grin, she climbed into his hand and let him carry her to the bed.

“Says the girl who just now tried to climb my brother,” Dean chuckled.

“Be nice,” Sam replied with a small, sideways smile. “She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, be nice,” Y/N echoed as Sam tucked the handkerchief around her. “She’s dr – hey! I’m not drunk. You’re drunk.”

“Whatever you say, precious,” Sam finished and turned off the night-light.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and she slept peacefully, only waking twice from a shadow looming over her, and the rest of the evening passed with hushed conversations and flickering light from Sam’s laptop screen.

The pain that rolled over Y/N when she woke up the next day was out of this universe. Every fibre in her body protested her continued existence.

With massive effort, she sat up in bed and did a short inventory on herself. Head: check, impossible to ignore. Even without the splitting headache, or the fact that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, feeling like sandpaper dipped in glue. Torso: heart racing, but otherwise okay. Acceptable. Arms and hands: surprisingly sore. What the hell had she been up to? The previous day was nothing more than an alcoholic blur. Legs and feet: both there. That was a relief.

She sighed. “Water,” she muttered, looking around the room. At least she wasn’t alone.

Sam was nowhere to be seen. Probably out on his morning run, but Dean was cleaning his gun by the window, and hearing Y/N’s feeble attempts to communicate, he looked up from his work. “She lives! How you feelin’, tiny? Ready to go climbing today?”

She frowned at him and the stupid, bright light slapping her across the eyes. “Like shit. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Like you don’t know,” he laughed, “trying to hit on my brother with your impressive rock climbing skills…”

A vision of fabric and arms and a disappointed face flicked in her brain. “Oh, Jesus, kill me! Kill me now!”

“Nope. It’s too much fun watching you dance around –“

Y/N hissed when Sam strode through the door. He smiled brightly when he saw her. “Morning! How are you feeling?”

Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment. Or maybe it was arousal; he looked absolutely delicious with his hair clinging to his face, and drops of sweat rolling down his throat. “Horrible. Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… sorry about… last night.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You were drunk. It’s Dean’s fault, really. He shouldn’t have given you alcohol.”

“Hey!”

Y/N grinned. “Yeah, Dean. It’s all your fault!”

“So no harm done,” Sam continued over Dean’s grumbling, holding up a white paper bag. “Breakfast’s in here. Save a sandwich for me.” With a wink, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Y/N with a spinning head and bright pink ears.

After breakfast, which turned out much livelier than Y/N had expected, Dean fetched his car keys and the box of fake IDs. He picked one for himself, and tossed the companion piece to Sam.

“Seriously, Dean? Where do you get these stupid names from?”

Sam’s protest was somewhat justified, Y/N thought, when she caught a glimpse of the card. The picture was great, but the name… Special agent Philip Artsville. Didn’t stop her from giggling, though.

When she finally managed to pull a serious face again, Sam had already changed into his FBI getup, and so had Dean. Y/N paused for a moment. “Looking sharp, guys, but how am I gonna fit in those pockets?” The suit was elegant, but the pockets weren’t the largest.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sam made a series of indecipherable noises before clearing his throat. “Yeah… about that…” He hesitated for just a bit too long. An unpleasant sting settled in Y/N’s stomach, and got even stronger when he looked to Dean for confirmation. “We don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to come with us on this one.”

“What? But…” Never in a million years had she imagined them leaving her behind.

Dean nodded. “Thing is… you’re so small now. If something happens… I don’t have the skills to fix squashed dolls and neither does Sam.”

“Come on! I can’t stay here. I’ll lose my mind! Nothing will happen –“

“You don’t know that. Look, I’m sorry, but the decision is final,” Sam said, looking at her with a mix of sympathy and determination. Y/N stared back with pure frustration in her eyes.

“It’s for the best,” Dean agreed, receiving a cold stare in return.

“Fuck you,” she spat, trying hard not to burst into tears. “I’m going crazy here and you wanna leave me behind?” She turned on her heel and marched over to her bed-box and climbed in, struggling even more than usual, pulling the handkerchief completely over her head. It felt too big – like she was drowning in the soft fabric.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” Sam said, trying to pull the blanket back just to see that she was okay, but she clung to it and almost got lifted off the table. He didn’t get an answer.

“See ya later,” Dean said, and then the door closed.

Y/N peeked over the edge of the box. The room was empty. Darker than she remembered. She climbed out and padded over to the nightlight. At least the switch was on the base.

Slowly climbing onto the metal disc, she stopped for a second. It was harder to get up there. Craning her neck, she tried to see if they’d moved her bed without her noticing. No, it was same lamp as before. But it had definitely grown.

Shaking her head, she threw her leg over the edge and pulled herself up. The switch was harder to push too. Putting all her weight and strength behind the push, she almost toppled over when the switch finally gave and light flooded the table. What the hell? She didn’t have the same problems earlier.

The drop down from the lamp seemed almost daunting now the thought had settled in her mind. Making her way over to the box, she measured herself against it. She couldn’t look over the edge any more. “FUCKING WITCHES!!!!!” she yelled, kicking the matchbox ladder. It didn’t even move, and she sank to her knees, clutching her hair and screaming louder than she had ever screamed before.

Falling quiet, she sat with her back against the box and stared into the room. It was as if it expanded; each wall slowly moved outwards. And it was too quiet. If they’d only left some music on or something. Even crappy daytime TV. But no. Everything about the situation reminded Y/N of how insignificant and useless she was.

Not ready to face this new revelation, she crawled into the bed and sank deep into her little mattress. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, and eventually she fell asleep, having no other means to pass the time.

Sam came back first. He’d left Dean behind at the diner, and gone straight to the motel with a bag of food. At first he was confused when the room was completely silent, with no sign of Y/N, and his stomach fell when he found her exactly where they’d left her that morning.

“Hey,” he said softly, stroking her hair away from her face to wake her. “I’m back. You hungry?”

Rubbing her eyes, she replied with a yawn followed by the tiniest sigh. “Mhm. Where’s Dean?”

The question punched Sam in the gut. Asking for his brother – he didn’t know what to say. He wished that he was the first thing on her mind when she woke up, but if it was Dean… Her heart would be shattered. Dean had never seen her as anything other than family. “He’s… uh… not here.” It was a coward’s solution, choosing not to utter the words that might hurt her.

She smiled. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Oh, he found himself entertainment for the evening, huh?” Letting out a small laugh, Y/N hauled herself out of the bed and climbed into Sam’s hand. “Good for him. Hope she was pretty.”

Squinting, Sam watched for a heartbreak reaction. There was none. Was the girl Dean had gone home with pretty? He honestly hadn’t noticed. “I guess,” he said, shrugging noncommittally, busying himself with preparing dinner for Y/N.

He put the plate down for her, and pulled up a chair. Y/N was mellower than usual, if mellow was the right word. Somehow all her movements seemed sluggish without the laziness – every time she turned her head it was gentle, a small movement, every step slower, every time she lifted her arms it was… timid: that was the word Sam was looking for. It was as if she tried to be invisible.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, regretting it immediately. The look he received was so lost, so without hope, he could barely stand it.

Y/N drew a short breath and sat down on her spoon. “You mean besides the obvious?” It would’ve been a crisp question had it not been for her voice; just a mist, not really there.

Resisting the urge to scoop her up and cradle her to his chest, Sam settled on leaning on the table instead. The tiny shake almost tipped her over. “We’re working on it,” he offered, knowing it wasn’t enough.

“I know.” It was a short answer, and it broke his heart. Y/N had given up. She looked him in the eyes. “I just… I miss my make-up and my clothes. I miss feeling pretty. And useful.”

“I know you do,” Sam said in a whisper, and continued: “For what it’s worth I think you’re pretty. And even though you can’t help out physically right now, you bring support and friendship. You keep us company. That’s plenty – ”

“Instead I’m fucking shrinking!” Her voice quivered, and she sniffed, turning away to hide the tears in her eyes.

“Shrinking?” This was bad news. A thousand what ifs raced through Sam’s brain.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I can’t… can’t see over the top of the… the…” She sniffed and got up, dragging her feet behind her until she stood in front of Sam’s outstretched hand, and leaned forward a little, nudging it ever so slightly.

As gently as he could, Sam lifted her up and held her tiny body close to him, stroking her back with his thumb. Soon he felt hot tears trickle down his collarbone, and he rocked back and forth, saying nothing and everything all at once.

After a while Y/N’s sobs quieted, and her shaking body stilled in his hand. Her chest rose and fell evenly, and Sam held her up to look closely at her.

Her face was wet and swollen, and the skin around her eyes was raw and pink, but she looked peaceful for the first time in ages.

Careful not to wake her, he carried her over to the bed and tucked her in, before returning to his laptop, doubling his efforts.

Dean found Sam lying on top of the covers in his bed. He was fully dressed and sleeping restlessly. The laptop had slid halfway down from his stomach, and the cursed bowl was in his hand. Scattered all over the bed and floor were papers with scribbles, copies of the symbols on the bowl, attempts at translations.

Smiling softly, Dean checked on Y/N before cleaning up the mess and the computer, and carefully moving the bowl so it wouldn’t fall to the floor and shatter.

Once that was done, he expertly removed Sam’s shoes and coaxed the blanket from under him. “We really need to figure this one out, little brother,” he whispered as he shook the blanket out over Sam. “And then you and Y/N are gonna have a serious talk. Don’t think I haven’t seen through you. Both.”

With a squeeze on Sam’s shoulder, he went to get ready for the night. When he got back after brushing his teeth, Sam had turned over on his side, facing Y/N and stretching a hand towards her.

Part six

Tagging my wonderful friends:

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#supernatural fan fiction #sam x reader #reader insert #sam winchester #dean winchester #fanfiction #the teaspoon girl part 5 #writing is hard

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