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phanfictioncatalogue · 4 months

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Fics With the Same Title (5) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four

Appreciation - placingglaciers

Summary: In which Dan is the town’s successful, wealthy, irritable, but lonely, mortician and Phil is his gardener who has to deal with his bad day from work the best way he can.

Appreciation (ao3) - epsilonfive

Summary: "Shut up," Phil says, not looking away from the screen. "I have an actual week of stuff to sort through, and unless you want to take over, I'll just--" Phil stops short as he comes to a point in the footage where his ass is center view.

"Uhhh," Dan begins, wetting his lips as his cheeks heat up a little. "I can explain that, actually,"

"Mmhm,"

Blue - washedoutgay

Summary: based off this song. ‘You were red and you liked me because I was blue.’ Dan is an artist who sees people as colours and Phil needs money.

Blue (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: He needs to leave the table for a bit and calm himself down, this often happens on dates or crowded places. He excuses himself and goes to find the bathroom. He walks into the male toilets and is met with a sight that he hasn't seen before.

Someone bending over in purple lace panties.

Blue (ao3) - killingaesthetic

Summary: Dan hasn't been able to see the color blue for his entire life. Nobody can see the color of their soulmate's eyes until they and their soulmate touch. Dan has been longing to see the sky and the ocean, but he never really expects it to happen. But then he meets a boy who changes his entire world.

Butterflies and Hurricanes - phillestatos

Summary: Phil Lester, also known as AmazingPhil, ends up falling for the cute piano player who likes to play Muse on his recitals, even when he kept telling himself it would never happen. youtuber!Phil/pianoplayer!Dan

Butterflies and Hurricanes (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan Howell is head over heels for the endearingly strange boy with eyes like the ocean.

(Or: a small piece I wrote to get some 2009 Phan feelings out of my system. Read with caution - this is pure fluff.)

Butterflies and Hurricanes (ao3) - Rhensis

Summary: "You’ll never beat me. I’m best at moaning, I’m used to it. After all, I’m such a bad little cockslut, aren’t I? Come on, Phil, fuck me, fuck me so hard I can’t walk home," Dan turns around, just in time for Phil’s lips to be placed against his own, taking him by surprise. He feels someone pull his fingers out of himself, and Phil replaces them with his own, adding a third just to make sure that Dan isn’t hurt.

"I want," Dan starts, interrupting himself with a moan, "to ride you,"

"Oh, fuck,"

Fortune Cookies (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: Dan gets a fortune cookie and it's been bugging him all day. But he's NOT superstitious.

fortune cookies (ao3) - oqua

Summary: Dan goes with Phil to celebrate Father's Day with the Lesters, and suddenly all his complicated feelings about his own parents come bubbling to the surface.

Basically 11k words of Dan being angsty and the Lesters being wonderful.

Not so Far Away (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan isn't okay, he hasn't been for a while. He's depressed and self-harming and he just can't be what his family wants him to be. Everything is shit until he sees a weirdly intriguing boy on Youtube. What happens when they finally meet?

Not everything can be perfect, it never will be, but that doesn't mean it can't be okay.

Set to begin around 2009.

Not So Far Away (ao3) - enthuzimuzzy

Summary: Phil decides to go on a walk.

Panic - jilliancares

Summary: Dan has a panic attack at a party but Phil’s there to help.

Panic (ao3) - GuineverePendragon

Summary: While onstage at Vidcon, Dan suffers from a panic attack. Only Phil knows how to calm him down- except, Phil's across the venue doing a whole different panel.

pretty (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: When Dan first sees the photoshoot of Ezra Miller in Playboy he stares for hours (minutes? who knows what time is) before he can even really consciously shape any thoughts around it.

Pretty (ao3) - Emptylester (timelordangel)

Summary: Dan buys himself something pretty to wear, and Phil happens to walk in while he's wearing it.

pretty (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: The boxes sit piled in a jumble in the corner of Dan’s closet for weeks. Phil starts getting notifications for them in the days after Nashville, alerts of purchases off the credit card they don’t use often and then the packages themselves, one by one at the door.

(little dresses and fishnet stockings, 2022)

Santa Baby - philipsenpai-fics

Summary: I wrote a Christmas smut fic! hope you all like it, yay i love Christmas :)

Santa Baby (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: When Phil uncovers a real mess in the couple's Christmas decorations, he comes up with a sexual game to determine which one of them must deal with the mess. Phil challenges Dan to something impossible, but both men have fun trying to outwit and out-sex the other.

Stuck - dxnhowell

Summary: Dan becomes pregnant, and is desperate for a job. He needs money for the baby. Then, he gets a job at Phil’s company. It’s not the ideal job, but Dan’s desperate at this point.

Stuck (ao3) - xDeathMelodiesx

Summary: Dan gets stuck in his binder and Phil helps him get out of it.

stuck (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: Phil supposes they're both prone to doing senseless things sometimes.

stuck (ao3) - watergator

Summary: prompt: “that’s starting to get annoying” & “good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion!”

Stuck (ao3) - regionalatbest

Summary: Phil gets his head stuck

Stuck (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Sensory overload gets the best of Dan on the tour bus in the middle of the night.

Stuck (ao3) - expiredlove

Summary: The story of Phil being hollered at by 20 women in Brighton.

Stuck On You - howthemoonsuitsthenightsky

Summary: When Dan wakes up one morning with a mark on the back of his head, the reason that he is in love with Phil is revealed. Dan thinks that he cannot cope with the betrayal, but somehow his mind always takes him back to Phil.

stuck on you (ao3) - watergator

Summary: dan finds himself in a rather awkward predicament and phil ends up having to helping him

Sunshine (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: a grumpy!dan and sunshine!phil fic in which dan totally doesn’t have a crush on phil. not at all

Sunshine (ao3) - metus_noctis

Summary: In which Phil is a bright ray of sunshine creeping through the windows of Dan's heart.

Sunshine (ao3) - thewakeless

Summary: Summer sex (with consequences)

the man of my dreams (ao3) - mel_m_a_o

Summary: He first dreamed about this man maybe two months ago. The dream wasn’t really something out of the ordinary and Dan didn’t really remember what it was about, but it stuck out to him, because he wasn’t usually someone who remembered his dreams. He often thought he just doesn’t dream at all, but that certainly changed. He keeps dreaming about the same pale, black haired man and his bright eyes that make Dan wake up in a sweat. He starts to see the face everywhere all the time until he actually does.

the man of my dreams (ao3) - animad

Summary: Just over a year ago, he’d started to get Dreams, nearly every night for two weeks. Dreams, discerned from dreams by one common factor, a factor that has dark hair and black rimmed glasses.

Three's Company (ao3) - sherlocks_watson

Summary: With that, Phil surged forward and crashed his lips onto Dan's, coaxing his mouth open. Carefully, Dan maneuvered so his head was now on the pillow and Phil hovered over him, violating his mouth with his tongue.

---

Set during VidCon 2016

Three's Company (ao3) - t_hens

Summary: 2009 expect Phil is dating Jimmy and wants to date Dan too.

Trapped - placingglaciers

Summary: In which Dan marries his best friend, Phil, and realizes he made the hugest mistake in his life during their wedding night.

Trapped (ao3) - Junebug1312

Summary: Phil's a superhero, Dan's a super villain. Neither play nicely.

Yellow - washedoutgay

Summary: Please stop picking flowers from my garden au/ Dan really likes yellow and his cat really likes Phil

Yellow (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: A new boy moved in next to him, his ex-girlfriend broke up with him, and school was starting back after the holidays. What makes it worse, is that the new boy is kind of cute and Dan’s straight.

yellow (ao3) - awrfdnp

Summary: “You’re my yellow, Phil.”

#phanfic #phanfictioncatalogue #phan #phanfiction #dan and phil #samefic #samefic masterlist

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diorgirl444 · 1 year

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Heya! May I request a male ship for Narnia? I can ship you in return (but chosen fandoms will be a surprise) Thank you so much!

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian (Filipino). Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy or Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Slytherin with patronous spirit of Hummingbird, INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unbothered to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

your perfect matchup is 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <𝟑

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <𝟑

i can definitely see you meeting peter after the events second of the second movie.

like you’re on the train on the way to school just minding your business, probably writing in a notebook, and then you hear noise.

some boy is bickering with his siblings about something, they keep subtly gesturing to you so you’re safe to say very confused.

because like what have you got to do with him, absolutely nothing! yet…..

eventually the boy sighs and goes to sit in the empty space next to you.

you’re understandably a little bit offended because it feels like he didn’t want to sit next to you.

till he turns to you and says “did you see all that over there?” you nod looking slightly irritated by him but he quickly says “before you come to the idea that i didn’t want to sit next to you i wanted to clarify that it wasn’t that at all. you see in fact i think you’re so pretty and i was worried that i’d do something stupid in front of you.” he looks incredibly apologetic and you say that he hasn’t done anything stupid at all!!! however if he does want to make it up to you he could always go out for a meal with you.

he instantly agrees and it’s safe to say that from now on every journey you took, be it on train, plane, bus or just life itself, you took it together.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <𝟑

i feel that you and peter are that couple that everyone knows is gonna tie the knot one day.

like to the other pevensie’s your already part of the family so they’re just waiting for the day you and peter make it official.

till then though let’s discuss what you’re like simply in the dating stage.

ok can i just say you and peter are always and i mean always saying dumb pick-up lines it makes the two of you equally entertained and flustered and you always try to catch the other one out.

in contrast he also loves having long deep chats about topics such as christianity or social issues with you. he just finds you such an interesting person.

he loves your singing voice he thinks it the most gorgeous sound in the world so he’ll always get you to sing to him.

he’ll also love slow dancing with you at home, just imagine him softly wrapping his arms around you and humming some old love song whisking you around your kitchen.

oh how lucky you are.

i can assure if there’s any animal that you dislike around you peter, hero complex, pevensie will get rid of it for you.

another thing that you two often do together is watching a documentary. peter’s ideal day is sat in front of an interesting documentary snuggling with you.

basically like the other pevensie’s i’m wondering when the two of you are gonna get married because you two are cute as can be!!!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <

hugs and kisses, flo

#matchups #matchup request #matchup trade #matchups closed #chronicles of narnia #narnia #peter pevensie #william moseley

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Let Them Talk

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female) ft. Sykkuno

Warnings: Swearing, Jealousy

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: We can all agree Among Us is a fun game on its own but what makes it ten times better is playing it with the right company. Y/N could agree 100% Being a streamer herself, she loves playing with the streamer gang that includes her boyfriend and best friend. But, what happens when her boyfriend starts doubting her feelings for him due to her close relationship with her best friend.

Requested by @cheetoscat . Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, I hope the final product is worth the wait. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Y/AU/N - Your Among Us Name

I settle in my gaming chair, adjusting my webcam one last time before joining the Among Us lobby with my friends.

“Hi everyone!“ I say into the mic, a smile plastering itself on my face. Discord is a magical thing, man. It’s so easy to forget that the people you are talking to aren’t around you or within arm’s reach. You could be separated by miles and miles of land or - in our case - oceans as well. Distance becomes negligible when you hear your friends’ voices, their laughter; when you have a good time together despite being each behind a screen, often times alone.

Well, I’m one of those lucky ones that isn’t alone. No one knows that, though. Everyone thinks I’m a single, self-employed girl that’s straight out of college. And they are 90% right. Only thing is - I’m not single. That would be a shocker in and of itself, but revealing who’s changed my relationship status would be a bomb with a whole new intensity.

Speaking of my significant other who shall remain unnamed - just kidding, it’s Corpse - his form materializes in the doorway of my recording room. I give him a hand signal the camera isn’t able to capture, alerting him of the fact that my mic is on. He replies by blowing me a kiss and walking off down the hall to his recording room where he’ll be stationed for the next three or so hours.

I owe this relationship to my best friend Sykkuno. I’m a pretty new and not very well known on the platform, however, thanks to him I haven’t only obtained a boyfriend, but a following of a little over million subscribers as well.

It all started with an invitation to fill a spot in the Among Us lobby him and his friends had created. It took him quite a bit to convince me to join, but I eventually caved and agreed. Suddenly, there I was. In a Discord call, in an Among Us lobby with some of the most well-known names on this platform. I’m talking YouTube legends. I was that puppy playing with the big dogs. The newbie tagging along with the big leagues. Or at least that’s how I felt until we all started vibing - talking and teasing each other as though we’ve known each other for years and not minutes.

When I joined the call, Corpse wasn’t present. After everyone else introduced themselves, Sykkuno informed me that we were waiting for Corpse to return. The name sounded really cool to me and I was genuinely very excited to meet this Corpse guy.

And then, out of the blue - no prep, no warning...

“Did you get someone to fill the spot? Oh- Hello, Y/AU/N.“

…he started talking and he had me star-struck. Apparently, he also had me a blabbering mess cause I remember blurting out: “Whoa, who’s this guy speaking in bold and underlined at the same time?”

The entire lobby, including Corpse, laughed. Sean, or Jack like they called him most often, answered my question, “That is the voice of God, Y/N. Its source is named Corpse, though.”

Heat spread from the bottom of my neck to the tips of my ears. I was mortified by my own stupidity. I was well aware they couldn’t see me and I was incredibly thankful for that, but I simply could not get myself to open my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I said through nervous laughter.

“No, no, I like that description. Bold and underlined at the same time, huh?“ His voice sounded even more pleasant when it had that teasing, mischievous note to it. That thought popping up in my head only made things worse for my self-esteem and only made me more embarrassed, causing me to hide my face in my hands. “You sure it’s not in Italics as well?“

His question got a weak laugh out of me. “Nope, definitely not. Nothing Italic about it.“

Yes, I don’t even know how some terrible jokes about MS Word fonts got me as far as a romantic relationship, but they did! We’ve been living together for quite some time now, dating for even longer - hiding it just as long. It’s not that we have been actively trying to hide it or something, we just wanted to see how long it would take someone to become sus of us. When we realized no one would notice, we decided that if any rumors about us started, or even fans shipping us, we’d come clean. That hasn’t happened either, so we haven’t had the proper chance to address our relationship and neither of us minds.

At this point, I’m honestly afraid of revealing it to the gaming squad. Sykkuno especially. He’s my best friend, after all. I can see him being hurt by the fact that I kept a secret so big even from him. The last thing I wanna do is hurt my best friend but it’s already too late for that, it’s inevitable.

“Y/N have you looked at Twitter today?“ Rae, another streamer I’ve become close with over the months, says urgently.

Overlooking the tension in her words, I answer: “Nope, haven’t had the time. Why? What’s up?“

Before Rae can say anything else, Sykkuno joins the conversation, his voice somehow even more urgent than Rae’s. “It’s nothing, Y/N. If you see it, just don’t let it bother you, ok?”

Hearing such a tone from Rae isn’t unusual, but hearing it from Sykkuno is completely different and a lot more worrisome. “Well if it has the potential of bothering me it can’t be nothing. What’s going on?”

Just then, my phone dings with two notifications. I check to see they are messages from Rae.

“I sent you screenshots. Sorry, Sykkuno. She has to know in order to address it and defuse it as well. I know better than anyone how fast these rumors can spread, especially if no one reacts to them.“ She says, her tone barely apologetic at all.

I open the screenshots she has sent me and I find myself frozen in shock. Some old pictures of Sykkuno and I have been posted on Twitter by some random user. These pictures have started an entire thread of suspicions surrounding our relationship.

The pictures in question are from a New Year’s Eve party a mutual friend of ours held two years ago. Sure, in the pictures we are a lot closer than what would be considered a platonic proximity. And yes one of the pictures is of me kissing his cheek. Yes we were both a bit tipsy. I acknowledge all those things and yet none of them are concrete reasons for these rumors to have started piling.

“This is silly.“ I finally say after maybe five minutes of silence on my end. ”This is absolutely ridiculous! And why are people so serious about it as well? Actual, important matters get discussed more nonchalantly than the potential relationship between two online personalities! What is this world we live in?“ I know I shouldn’t let these rumors get to me like this, especially not on camera. Still, I can’t help it. I feel it’s so unfair to Corpse. He has to put up with this as well and it’s by no means easy for him. I’ve been shipped with people from our group in the past and he always took those rumors to heart despite acting like he didn’t care. Neither of us should get worked up, but him getting upset about them creates a domino effect with my emotions - causing me to be hit just as hard as him, in some cases harder.

Rumors of the past aside, this one is the worst by far. Mostly cause even Corpse himself suspected something between Sykkuno and I at the very beginning, when we were still acquaintances, barely crossing into the realm of friends.

I pull up Twitter to look for the whole thread, barely sparing my stream chat a glance in the process. It seems pretty split - those who agree with me and those who think Sykkuno and I make ‘such an adorable couple’. The thread is ridiculously long, and if we take into account that it was only started approximately five hours ago, you can either view it as impressive, amusing or sad. Why sad? Because someone has dedicated so much time and effort into fueling the fire of a weakly supported theory.

I love Sykkuno with all my heart. Everyone knows that - fandom, streamer squad, Corpse and Sykkuno included. I love too much and too platonically to ever even dream of having a romantic connection with him. I thought that was more than obvious, but people are either blind here, or just grasping at straws. One thing’s for certain - they’re stepping on a nerve.

“Hey where’s Corpse? Did he disconnect?” Felix asks, gaining my full attention. My eyes dart to the monitor, searching through the little avatars in a desperate search for the one of my boyfriend. It’s nowhere to be found.

“He just messaged me saying his connection is unstable but he might join us later.“ Rae says, “You guys can invite someone to fill...“

“Bathroom break.“ I interrupt, not waiting for a response before shutting my mic off, putting the ‘BRB‘ graphic on my stream and yanking the headset off. I basically run down the hall to Corpse’s recording room, my heart pounding like a bass drum.

“Corpse?!“ I call out to him, one hand already on the doorknob. When five seconds pass by without a response, I barge in.

Inside, I find his usual spot on the gaming chair empty and his slumped figure seated on his bed.

“Corpse?“ I try again, watching for even the tiniest change of body language. He remains still as a statue, not bothering to look up at me either.

His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hanging low. His eyes are covered by the short curtain of his dark messy curls. I can’t gauge much. Is he angry? Is he sad? Both? How should I approach the situation?

Before I find the answer to any of those questions, I am kneeling in front of him, our height difference eliminated. I gently pry his hands off the mattress and take them in mine, holding them firmly but tenderly. With one hand I reach up to tilt his head so his eyes can meet mine. He complies, his tear-filled brown orbs meeting mine. Those tears have the same effect on me as fifty sharp knives stabbing into my chest. These tears focus their attack straight on my heart, tearing it to pieces.

“Baby....“

He cuts me off, “Why is it always someone else, huh? Do they deem me not worthy of being with you? Do they think you deserve better?” His voice wavers, “Well, they might be right. They are correct and there’s little I can do to prove them wrong. They mean you well, Y/N - pairing you with guys better than me. Those are some loyal fans you’ve got. They only want what’s best for you. And so do I. If ‘best’ is being with someone else then...”

It’s my turn to cut him off. I put an end to his nonsense ramble that’s slowly killing me by pressing my finger against his lips. The sternness of my gaze is beyond me as I get up and walk over to his computer setup. I put on his headset and hop into the call as well as the lobby with his avatar.

“Hey Corpse’s back!” Toast says, “Good to have you back buddy.”

“No, not Corpse.” I say in a casual, nonchalant voice.

“Wait, wha-“ Sean’s voice shows just how confused he is, representing the confusion of the entire lobby actually.

“I know all of you are streaming so this message will be heard by several different audiences so I’m gonna make myself perfectly clear.“ I take a deep breath, “Sykkuno and I aren’t dating. He’s a lovely guy and he deserves to find a girl who will treat him right. That girl isn’t and won’t be me though. I am already treating someone right. Someone who treats me more than right as well. An amazing person. A man-child with a heart of gold. You know him, to a certain extent. He goes by the name of Corpse Husband, but I prefer to call him ‘Love of my life’. Thank you for your time and attention, goodbye.“

I exit the call and turn around to find a stunned Copse looking at me.

“That was meant for you just as much.“ I say with a fake strict attitude, one hand on my hip the other rested on his desk behind me, “Were you listening?“

Within milliseconds, he’s on his feet standing directly in front of me, his lips inches away from mine. “I heard and memorized every word. But...” he pauses for a moment, “I think you have no idea how big of a chaos you just created.”

I smile mischievously, “We’ll worry about that later. For now...” I close the gap between us, connecting our lips in a sweet and passionate kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @the-fuck-up-of-today @slashersdream @chiefwombathoagiepizza @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01

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doodler-jpeg · 3 years

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Road Trip [Dream Team]

You know that one song? Beachboy? Yeah, the second part is kind of based off of that. Just the opening bit, though. I didn’t include BBH because I couldn’t really think of how to include him. Sorry about that. Also second post HAHAH SUCK IT, NON BELIEVERS.

LIL EDIT: APPARENTLY SOMEONE SMILED BECAUSE OF THIS?? I don’t think you’ll see this again, though I’m very glad you did! :]

⚠️cursing⚠️

Pronouns: they/them

You heaved a sigh as you tapped your finger against the steering wheel as the three boys loaded into the car, giggling happily as they buckled themselves in.

Dream had the liberty of taking the front passenger seat, laughing at George and Sapnap about their unfortunate situation in the back seat. You sighed as you backed turned around to see if everything was packed for your little road trip, nodding in approval as your friends held up their bags and yours.

“Okay, nobody needs to go to her bathroom?” You asked, backing out of the driveway and into the street to start your drive.

“We’re men, [Nickname],” Dream stated, placing his hand on your shoulder and smirking at you. “We can piss in cups.”

You sent him a painfully fake smile and laughed, “No, honey, you’re just gonna piss your pants. You won’t have enough time to get through to the bottle before you just get piss everywhere.” You gave his shoulder a ‘reassuring’ pat before driving down the street and taking a right out of the neighbourhood.

You clenched the wheel tightly as Sapnap yelled at George and Dream when they had sussed him out in a game of Among Us with random people.

“I WASN’T THE FUCKING IMPOSTOR!” He groaned out, throwing his head back and punching George.

“Why’d you do that?” George whined, rubbing where Sapnap had hit him. He formed a fist and punched the teen, causing a chain reaction of them punching each other until George finally noticed that he had died.

“NO! I DIED!” He yelled, causing you to inhale.

“Shut up, both of you! I’m trying to vent-”

“I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, ALL OF YOU, I’LL TURN THIS FUCKING CAR AROUND. SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You yelled, slamming the breaks. The three launched forward. Both Sapnap and George smacked their heads against the seats in front of them and Dream held onto the dashboard, eyes wide as he turned to you.

“I-”

“Shut.” You grabbed his mouth and shut it.

“B-

“I said shut, you little motherfucker.” The faceless YouTuber sunk into the seat and the other two let out small cries. “I’m not gonna say it again.” That made the two of them shut up and they played silently on their phones, leaving you to sigh as you sped up to the speed limit, playing some music to distract the four of you.

“Can I-”

“Lets play the quiet game, okay? First one to talk has to pay for gas, snacks, and anything else. Okay?” The three nodded and you smiled victoriously, curving alongside the road.

You yawned as you slipped on the cold coffee you had bought nearly six hours ago. Your three best friends were snoozing away without a care in the world, having long since abandoned their energy to sleep. Clouds rolled in slowly and rain poured down, tapping against the glass and causing you to smile as you continued to drive, occasionally taking sips from your gross tasting coffee that you didn’t want to waste.

Your moment of peace was interrupted as Sapnap groggily opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly as he sniffed.

“[Nickname]?” He yawned, voice deep from having just woken up. ““What time is it?” At the question, you glanced at the car’s clock and winced.

2:39 am.

“It’s 2:39, sweetheart. Just go back to bed.” You reached back and ruffled his hair, causing him to giggle and shake his head a bit as you did so.

“Wait- am or pm?”

“Does it matter?” You responded, slowing down as you rounded another corner.

“Yeah,” Sapnap let out a muffled groan as he stretched, nearly hitting George in the process. ““Can I drive?”

“No, Sap, just go back to sleep.” You waved off, running a hand through your hair as he huffed.

“But I don’t want to.” He groaned, causing George to stir beside him, “My backpack’s not comfy anymore and you’re always nice to cuddle.” You shook your head and slowed down a bit as it began to rain harder, making it more difficult to drive. Sapnap cheered groggily and reached out for you.

“It’s too dark and I can’t see anything, even with the head lights on.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you pulled off of the road and parked the car. Taking out the keys to save gas, you nudged George a bit before crawling in between the two, almost immediately being glomped by the youngest. You ran your hands through his hair and made sure you were comfortable as Sapnap took out a blanket from the trunk.

“Wait, hold on.” You stretched, sitting back up. You gently nudged George, who groaned and rolled away from you, smacking his nose against the door. You winced and locked it before nudging him a few more times.

“I’m sorry, Gogy, but I’m gonna need you to sit up so I can get the back set up.” The brunet nodded, clearly still in his tired state of mind, and crawled into the front seat, resting his head in the edge of the steering wheel.

Quickly laying the seats down [after moving the extra stuff, like snacks], you woke George back up and patted back to where his seat was. He was bewildered, but didn’t question it as he crawled back and curled up. You smiled and looked over at Dream.

“I’m sorry, Dream.” The male in question [not necessarily, it wasn’t a question at all] groaned and turned his head, peeling his eyes open as he looked around.

“’s loud,” he commented, blinking slowly. “[Nickname]? Why are you here?”

“Road trip, honey. Now come here, it’s not comfortable sleeping in a chair.” He nodded and climbed over the middle area between the two front seats and sat next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and snuggling into your neck. Sapnap huffed from beside you and did the same, sending Dream a glare.

“I swear to god, if you two start fighting again, I’ll put you outside. Stop it. I just wanna sleep- oh, I’m so sorry, Gogy, come here.” The British male rolled over Dream and rested his head on your stomach, pulling his blanket with him. You sighed and ruffled his hair, draping the blanket over Sapnap and George, making sure they had enough warmth before reaching over to Sapnap’s and doing the same for Dream.

Road trips just got a whole lot better.

Cause now you’re sleeping with da homies. With socks on, of course.

#mcyt #mcyt x reader #dream team x reader #georgenotfound x reader #dream x reader #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x you #dream x you #sapnap x you #dream team x you #mcyt x you

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writingtoforgetreality · 3 years

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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas - Little Movie Star Chapter Seven (Jensen Ackles x Daughter!Reader)

[Actors-Masterlist], [Little Movie Star-Masterlist]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter (05/08/2021)

Summary: Holidays were around the corner & you were more than a little anxious. How did one celebrate Christmas? You had no money for expensive gifts. Well, that meant you had to improvise. Hopefully, it was enough for them.

Words: 3,526

Warnings: Christmas Chapter in May?, anxiety, language, fluff, cute gift exchange <3

~2016~

That night, Jared left your room after you fell asleep. No matter how many times you begged him not to tell anyone about your panic attack, he could not do that. So as the party slowly died down, he pulled Jensen & Danneel aside & told them what he had witnessed. Obviously, they were concerned about you. Yet, they did not go to you right away. If you were ready to open up to them, you would. Still, they kept a closer eye on you from then on, noticing smaller signs of you struggling with anxiety. Jensen hated that you kept this part of you hidden. But he understood that there was a long way for you to fully trust a person & you simply were not there yet. They had to accept it, whether they liked it or not.

Supernatural had a lot to film before the holidays & Jensen had not really been a consistent part in Vancouver because of him flying back & forth. He felt bad when he told you he had to go back filming until the beginning of December. Brushing him off, you assured him that you guys would be fine alone. Besides, you also had Gen & the kids to entertain you. Over the short time, you had grown close to them. You loved whenever Tom & Shep came by to play with JJ & they wanted you to be a part of it. There were some times when Danneel, Gen & you would have a girls day together. At first, it was a lot for you, but you had grown to love them. At the same time, Danneel & you got to know each other way better, especially with Jensen being back in Vancouver.

Holidays were approaching fast & you had no idea how to deal with it. You had never celebrated Christmas before & were not sure if you should get your new family presents or not. Were they people who valued gifts? Would you receive some? Of course you would, you knew the Ackles’ by now. So you had to think of something. Fast. There was no way you could spend a lot of money on these presents. Not because you did not want to but because it would not be your money. You had saved up a little bit & it would do for small gifts. Then you had an idea.

“Where are you going?” Danneel asked when she saw you putting your shoes on. You coughed shortly, trying to think of an excuse. She knew you did not like going anywhere alone so she was surprised when she found you getting ready.

“Um, just wanna take a walk. I won’t be gone too long.” you promised her & before she could answer, you were out of the door. Danneel was confused by your behavior but she thought it to be positive that you were going outside on your own. Clearly, she had no idea that you were going shopping for Christmas presents.

After buying all the stuff that you needed, you started preparing the presents. You still had over a month left but you wanted to start earlier, just in case. It was not a lot, definitely not expensive, but you hoped they still liked it after unwrapping it. When you realized that you had no idea how to wrap a present, you embarrassingly had to check YouTube for a how-to video. After a few failed attempts & you growing frustrated because you clearly were too dumb to get it done correctly. In the end, you managed to wrap everything. It was by no means good or perfect but you could see what it was supposed to represent.

“How was filming?” you asked Jensen after he came back home.

“It was good. We had a lot of fun, as always.” he answered with a laugh.

“So…can you tell me what happens?” managing your best puppy dog eyes, something Jared had learned you over facetime while they were shooting, Jensen simply shook his head at you.

“Forget it, young lady. You’re a fan of the show, I won’t give away any spoilers, you have to wait like everyone else.”

“You don’t have to wait.” sighing exaggeratingly, you wanted to argue with him.

“Next season you won’t have to.” this made your smile grow wider. He was right, you would start in a few months & you could not wait to receive your first script. “Besides…The guys told me that they can’t wait to finally meet you & work with you.” Jensen looked at you, watching your reacting.

“Fingers crossed they won’t regret casting me.” you joked which made him laugh. He knew you were not serious but the meaning behind your words left an uneasiness in him.

“They won’t, trust me.” he reassured you. Hopefully he was right.

Decorating for Christmas was fun. Even Jared & Gen came over to help you out a little. You all planned to spend Christmas Eve together at your house so you could celebrate Christmas the next morning together as well. This would be the first time you were not entirely alone on this holiday. Hell, you had no idea how to celebrate Christmas in the first place. What were you supposed to do? Maybe you would be just fine if push came to shove.

Two more days until Christmas Eve & you could not help but grow more anxious the closer it got. Your fear of doing anything wrong was so big that you barely had time to enjoy the Christmas spirit. Whatever that was anyway…Knocking on the front door that belonged to the house next to yours, you fiddled with your hands, now feeling stupid for coming over in the middle of the night. They were probably asleep, they would not even hear your attempt of knocking. To your surprise, the door opened only a few seconds later.

“(Y/N)? You alright?” it was Jared, his hair tousled from being asleep. Shit, you did wake him. Great, now you were feeling even worse. Shaking your head, Jared ushered you inside quickly.

“What’s up? It’s…” he looked at his phone to check the time. “3 am.”

“I sneaked out.” you confessed.

“And you did that because..?” Jared was confused. Never before had you shown up at his house in the middle of the night. Whatever was bothering you, it was serious, he could tell. He noticed your trembling hands before you had the chance to answer him. Immediately, he walked you over to his couch to sit down. Making sure to send Jensen a quick text just in case he woke up & could not find you, he put his phone away again, focusing entirely on you.

“I’m sorry.” your voice was quiet & Jared felt his heart breaking.

“Don’t be.” he assured you. “Is there anything you need me to do for you?” he spoke softly, showing you that he was not about to leave you.

“I don’t know, I just…ugh.” throwing your head back in frustration, you were angry at yourself for being so childish. Yet, you did not know what else to do. Jared was the only person who knew a little about what you were struggling with. So you did what you thought was right. Knocking on his door at 3 am. Maybe it was not the best decision you ever made.

“Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.” he instructed & you followed through. “There you go. You can talk to me, (Y/N).”

“You’d think it’s stupid.”

“Try me.” his answer got a little laugh out of you. Jared’s eyes grew wider when you did.

“I’m scared of Christmas.” you admitted embarrassingly. When Jared did not say anything, you continued. “This is my first time celebrating & I don’t know what to do or what is appropriate or how you guys usually celebrate it or if you expect something from me or-“ Jared interrupted your rambling.

“Hey, hey, hey. (Y/N). I can assure you that nobody expects anything from you. Except maybe the fact that you are there. That’s all that matters. You being with us to celebrate Christmas together.” Jared’s eyes showed nothing but understanding. Your conversation went on for a little longer & when you wanted to leave his house, he told you to sleep in their guest room for the night. Too tired & exhausted to argue any more with him, you let him lead you to the spare room where you embraced the soft sheets right away. It felt good to open up to someone but you did not understand why you were okay with telling Jared but when it came to Jensen & Danneel, you chickened out.

When you woke up next morning, you got startled for a second, briefly forgetting about last night’s events. What would you tell Jensen & Danneel? Getting up & using the bathroom that was attached to the guest room, you were surprised to find clothes on the counter. Assuming Jared was the one who put them there, a small smile made its way on your face. A quick shower would not be too bad so you hopped inside quickly, letting the warm water soothe your skin. After drying off your body, you put on the clothes Jared had prepared for you. A pair of sweatpants & one of his hoodies. Well, you were not sure if he ever got this one back, if you were honest. You knew your way through the Padalecki’s house by now, due to you spending a lot of time there lately. Paddling through the hallway, you heard distant voices coming from the kitchen area.

“Good morning, (Y/N)! Breakfast is about to be done.” Jared spoke up before you could even see him. What was it with him & his spidey senses?

“Morning, Jared. Sorry again for las-“ coming to a halt right after walking inside the room. Jensen & Danneel were already sitting at the table. Shit, you did not expect that.

“I invited them over for breakfast.” Jared told you. Oh, really? You almost missed that.

“Yeah, I can see that.” chuckling & slowly walking over to a chair, your eyes focused on the floor, too embarrassed to look Jensen & Danneel in the eyes. They were about to yell at you for sneaking out in the middle of the night without telling them anything.

“Am I dreaming or is Jared really making breakfast?” Gen walked into the room & everyone laughed at her comment, even you. Surprisingly, breakfast went by smoothly. Nobody mentioned last night & you were more than thankful for it. But you also knew that Jared most likely talked to Jensen & Danneel about what happened anyway. Who were you kidding, though? They were probably aware of the panic attack you had during the party a while ago. Jared only meant well but still…this entire thing made you extremely uncomfortable. You hated that more & more of yourself got revealed to them & you could not do shit to stop it. Being vulnerable in front of them was awful. Hell, they had more important things to worry about than you & your stupid problems.

“(Y/N)? Can you come here real quick, please?” Jensen asked you after being back in your house again.

“Sure, what’s up?” you were nervous about what he wanted from you but you had to give yourself that. You played it incredibly cool. Like there was nothing wrong at all.

“So for Christmas Eve, we’re doing a movie night, right?” he knew the answer to that question but still decided to ask. After nodding your head, he kept on. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” that caught you off guard. He asked you? Why would he ask you?

“Um, I love “Home Alone” but the munchkins shouldn’t watch that.” you concluded. A while ago, whenever you talked about all the kids, you called them munchkins. You found it cute.

“True.” Jensen chuckled.

“I’m sure they’d love “Frozen”, though.” this made Jensen sigh loudly & you laughed at his antics. In all the time you had been with them, you sure as hell had watched that movie about thirty times. No kidding. Really.

“Okay, you know what? We’ll start off with “Frozen” & after the kids are asleep, we’ll watch “Home Alone”, is that alright?”

“Sure, if you guys don’t wanna watch another Christmas movie.”

“Not at all. This one’s perfect.” his smile eased you & you loved the fact that he wanted to include you in their tradition. Yep, Jared definitely told him.

Christmas Eve dinner was delicious & you did not feel anxious at all. Chatting, laughing & enjoying each other’s company was more than enough. Your movie marathon was perfect, too. During “Frozen”, you found yourself singing along to each song, as did the little ones. Well, they tried, at least. Everyone was happy to see you enjoying yourself. When you were like that, nobody could tell that you had a shitty past or that you were still struggling with the consequences of it. This was the first time that Jensen had heard you sing & he was surprised that your voice was actually pretty damn good. Maybe you would sing with him one day, who knew? The kids went to sleep & the five of you watched “Home Alone”, happy that the others were enjoying this movie as well. Before you guys went to bed, too, Jensen, Danneel, Jared & Gen placed a bunch of presents under the big, decorated tree. You wanted to wait to add your presents to the other stacks until everyone was fast asleep. So you sneaked out of your room later that night to do exactly that.

Three kids jumping up & down on your bed woke you from your peaceful slumber. Each of them yelled at you to get up because Santa brought so many presents overnight. Smiling at their excitement, you dragged yourself out of bed & went downstairs. The others were already there. Stopping for a short moment, you took everything in & processed the scene in front of you. This was all so new to you. Everybody had a big smile plastered on their face. Was this what you had missed all these years? JJ took your hand & dragged you over to where the others were already seated.

Presents started being exchanged, kids first, of course. Grabbing three small packages, you walked over to JJ & kneeled down to her. The twins were asleep but you planned on giving them their presents later today. You bought a small, soft blanket for each of them.

“There you go, princess. Merry Christmas.” JJ took her present from you & lost no time in unwrapping it. Her smile widened & she proudly held up the pink magic wand you got her. But there was more to this present.

“I got this when I was your age. Bill gave it to me because I always wanted to be a princess in a huge castle on a hill somewhere. I want you to have it, JJ. Take care of it.” she threw her hands around your neck & you pulled her closer. Danneel had tears in her eyes when she heard your story. Jensen wrapped an arm around her. He, too, was moved by what you told JJ. They did not expect you to give any of them any presents. Yet, you went out of your way.

“Tom? Shep?” their heads perked up when they heard their names being called. You each handed them a package, glad that they were too young to care about how neatly your wrapped them.

“Merry Christmas.” smiling when they started unwrapping their gifts, they let out excited squeals when they saw what you got them. They were the biggest Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fans. Tom got Leonardo & Michelangelo, Shep held Donatello & Raphael in his small hands. They thanked you again & again until you laughed at them, assuring that it was more than fine.

“Just, don’t argue over them, okay? You gotta share those.” they nodded at you & immediately started playing with the figures. Alright, at least the kids were happy with their gifts.

“Jared? Gen?” you eyed them nervously. “I-I know it’s not much but…Merry Christmas.” you handed them their gift, fiddling with your hands. Jared let Gen open it. A small picture frame revealed itself. You put a picture of the three of you inside. You took it in their backyard, all of you wearing the “Family Has Your Back” hoodie.

“This is more than enough.” Gen started.

“It’s perfect, (Y/N).” Jared finished & waited for you to make a move. If you were the one to initiate a hug, they would not decline. Their smiles got wider when you pulled them into a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas, guys. This is a thank you for everything that you’ve done for me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you..” before you got too emotional, you handed them their package. It was a little bigger & therefore poorly wrapped. “Sorry about the wrapping paper. I suck at that.” you laughed uncomfortably. Danneel only brushed you off, telling you that it was just perfect. They both gasped when they saw what you gave them. You made a painting of the two of them in a pop-art style. Thinking it would fit perfectly in the house & all.

“We need to find the perfect place for it.” Danneel squealed to which Jensen nodded.

“Thank you, angel.” Jensen pulled you into a tight hug, one that Danneel joined a second later. “You have talent.” he added after releasing you. Blushing at his words, you simply thanked him. A while ago, you would have argued, telling him that you were not that good. But you had improved when it came to accepting compliments. The others kept exchanging gifts & you sat by, watching their excitement whenever another present got opened. Slowly, your mood shifted. Maybe you would not receive anything from them? After all, you were still new to the family. That was okay. Did not change you from being sad about it, though. Not wanting to show your disappointment, you kept a smile on your face.

“I believe there is one person left without any presents.” Jensen spoke up & you looked at him with your head tilted. They did not forget about you? There were still two packages left & he grabbed one, Jared took the other.

“Merry Christmas.” all of them said, even the kids joined in. Why were there already tears threatening to spill? Nothing had happened yet.

“That’s not your actual present. But we thought it was the perfect timing to give it to you today.” Jared put one neatly wrapped gift in your lap & when you saw all of them waiting for you expectantly, you went to open it. No way. Was that real?

“Seriously?” you were shocked when you took a closer look at it. “The script for the next Avengers?” they nodded at you.

“Came in a few days ago. I actually wanted to give it to you right away but Danneel had the idea of giving it to you for Christmas.” Jensen explained.

“Thank you! This is…wow.” no words could be formed. You had to read through it later, for sure.

“Here.” Danneel handed you the second gift. “That’s from all of us & from a few others.” sending you a wink, you were left confused. JJ, Tom & Shep sat themselves around you, not wanting to miss anything. Delicately, you unwrapped the present, only for it to reveal a small book. It read “SPN Family” on the cover. There was also a small anti-possession symbol pictured. You were confused but when you asked what it was, they simply told you to have a look at it. Opening the first page, you could not control the tears any longer.

“(Y/N),

this book is filled with letters, pictures & more. Not only will you find our names in there, you will see that almost everyone who’s part of our Supernatural crew has left you a little something behind until you’ll join us on set. Read through it whenever things get tough or whenever you need something to cheer you up. Don’t forget that we’re always here for you, no matter what. You’re family & we care for you.

Merry Christmas, angel”

Jumping up, you ran over & gave each of them a tight hug. You let the tears flow freely, no longer caring about showing your emotions in front of them. The kids dragged you back to the couch, wanting to show you what they contributed to the book. All of them drew a few pictures & you were in awe. That was more than you could have ever imagined.

“Thanks, really. I-I don’t even know what to say.” wiping away your tears, they knew that it was the right decision to get you this present. It almost did not get finished but they managed to get it done in time. And it was freaking worth it.

~to be continued~

Next Chapter (05/08/2021)

Published (05/01/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @vicmc624, @imaginationisgrowth, @stoneyggirl, @alyispunk, @thevelvetseries, @multifandomlover121, @samsgirl93, @supernatural3002, @diabetes-03, @prettyybubblesintheair, @originalsoulcollector, @vir-tual, @bellero, @sergantbuckybarnes, @namelesslosers (let me know if you wanna be tagged <3)

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

Text

Flower | 40 | End

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 6.9k

; Warnings: Slight anxiety attack, mentions of panic, slight body issues

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: So...this is it 😢 Flower is officially over! I started writing this on November 15th, 2019. Almost a year later, here we are with 40 chapters, 3 drabbles and 180k of words. Can you believe I actually finished it? I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it and the journey of the MC finding herself and falling in love with Hoseok. It’s been so fun to write and it’s sad to let it go. If you’ve enjoyed reading this, please let me know with a comment or an ask! I’ve loved reading how much you’ve all felt seen or embraced by the MC with her struggles and I’d love to hear your thoughts on not only this chapter but the whole fic! Feedback is what keeps authors going and I came very close to leaving writing once Flower was finished but I’m still going to carry on. I’m not sure if this chapter is good or not, but I hope you enjoy it anyway and think it a fitting end to the story!

; Flower Masterpost

“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...walk down the aisle. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, Hoseok could not be there or I could have a heart attack and drop down dead. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of my issues, I wouldn’t have to worry about everyone watching me. On the other hand...I’m going to marry the love of my life. As long as he turns up” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers in the room, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself.

It was a good job, as it meant that no one else in the room could hear your panicked thoughts that were being verbalised. Hoseok and you had decided to get married at an exquisite mansion hotel with the ceremony itself being in the elegant gardens outside. There was a full-sized maze alongside a stunning fountain, the centrepiece being a marble depiction of Aphrodite rising from the shallows.

You’d taken a walk around the perfectly groomed gardens the night before, taking in all the decorations that you’d painstakingly picked out over the months that had been artfully arranged by the staff. The flowers in the gardens were beautiful, a smorgasbord of pinks, oranges, violets, reds and yellows that brought the whole area to life. Alongside it looking visually perfect, it also smelled amazing as well with the soft scent of different flowers mixing.

At night, the tiny fairy lights that had been strung up around the building front and the metal trellises that were organised in the garden gave off a soft, golden glow. It made the whole place look ethereal and you were excited for everyone else to get to see it during the reception tonight.

The actual wedding ceremony was scheduled to start at two in the afternoon, with only friends and family invited for that. It would be outside as well, with Hoseok and you standing at the end of a make-shift aisle on the lawn section of the hotel’s garden. Temporary chairs had been arranged on both sides for your guests, dark wood with ivory silk draped over everyone. At the end of the aisle, each chair had a silk bow in ivory and deep purple alongside a bouquet of specially arranged flowers.

It all looked perfect and you’d marvelled at it yesterday, amazed that they’d managed to bring your vision to life. Now all you had to do was walk down it and get married, which was where you were a little panicked.

The room that had been assigned to the bridal party was on the lower floor of the hotel, reducing the risk of you potentially killing yourself by tripping over your dress while walking down the stairs. It was technically two hotel rooms connected through a shared bathroom, which you found bizarre.

Your mom and Hoseok’s mom had taken the other room for their use to get changed, the hairdresser and makeup artist they’d hired working there to make them look their best for the ceremony. Even now, you could hear them chattering and laughing away with each other. Even through your anxiety, you can’t help but smile as you hear them get on so well.

Any fears you’d had about them not liking each other had quickly disappeared. Instead, they’d become good friends and liked to meet up now and then to have a talk over coffee or something. It pleased you to see your mom getting to have more friends.

Eden and Amelia had also chosen to get ready in that room, not wanting to crowd the one you were in too much. It was already full of dresses and a ridiculous amount of makeup and hair product with only four of you so you couldn’t even imagine the chaos with five of you.

In your room was Soyeon, Chungha and Dahyun alongside you. Dahyun was currently three months pregnant, having successfully been inseminated with Jungkook’s sperm. He’d agreed to their request and after a few months of getting prepared for the attempts, Dahyun had undergone the procedure. What it had been exactly, you didn’t know because you hadn’t felt it was your business to pry into something like that.

It was a privilege to even know they were trying before anyone else. Their announcement had come at your bachelorette party when Dahyun had refused alcohol, immediately leading Soyeon and you to be suspicious. You’d never seen Chungha’s beloved ever turn down a drink so it had been a clear sign of something at least.

Needless to say, your party had happily become a celebration of their impending baby. Thankfully, you weren’t one of those people who got overly annoyed at others announcing things at events. Or at least, not big events. Your bachelorette party had been a perfect time to find out, whereas you might not have been so amenable if they’d told everyone today instead.

That was normal though, right? Today was your day. Yours and Hoseok’s. People who felt the need to co-opt special days like that were a special type of self-absorbed in your opinion.

Given it was so early into her pregnancy, Dahyun isn't showing that much. Which meant her bridesmaid dress hadn’t needed to be altered too much. None of them has gotten into their dresses just yet, instead currently in the process of getting their face and hair done. Chungha’s hair has already been done, elegantly styled into a beautiful updo with a few tendrils curled around her face.

The makeup for the girls was a smokey eye with subtle blush and contour, alongside a neutral lip. It wasn’t anything flashy, but you’d loved the concept of it all. Particularly with the small and delicate crystals that dotted along their waterline, adding a little sparkle to match the tiny crystals on their deep violet dresses.

As a present to each of them, you’d bought them a gift set from Pandora. In each one was a pair of dainty stud earrings with a heart design alongside a matching heart-shaped pendant necklace. All the hearts were encrusted with brilliant-cut stones, making the perfect gift that could be used again in the future for casual use.

They’d all been in awe of it and surprised at being given presents as well. You hadn’t even known it was a thing until you’d looked up wedding preparation online, discovering that you should also buy something for Hoseok. Which had led to you buying him the fancy watch he’d been drooling over for months now. It had been eye-watering expensive, but it had been worth it for his excited text this morning.

Along with the watch, you’d also written him a letter. It was meant to be light-hearted and fun, but you’d ended up writing way too much as you’d poured out your love to him alongside everything you felt for him. To your eternal embarrassment, you’d ended up crying while writing it as you’d told him everything you’d never been able to vocalise, including writing possibly a million times that you love him.

He’d been instructed to not read that until just before the ceremony.

His present to you was a gaming table, which might not seem to be very sentimental to anyone else but you’d been ecstatic over it. For years now, you’d been saying that you wanted to buy a proper table that was designed for board games and that could then be used as a normal table when converted. They were super expensive so you’d resigned yourself to never getting one, but he’d printed out the receipt of what he’d ordered and put it into an envelope for you to open tonight.

Neither of you had ever been a traditional couple, and that certainly wasn’t about to change with marriage.

“Hey, you okay?” Amelia asks, interrupting your intense thought process as she sits down next to you. As usual, her aura is warm and reassuring as she reaches over to gently squeeze at your hand. You don’t spend a huge amount of time around her, but you knew both Eden and her enough to want them in your bridal party.

“Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m just…” Trailing off, you struggle to find the right words and instead gesture towards the air. It makes no sense but you can’t quite figure out what you’re trying to say. Mainly because you can’t figure out what your mind is thinking.

“It’s okay to be worried, don’t feel like you shouldn’t be. If you’re anxious or nervous then that’s okay as well. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should be feeling, just feel what you are. Trust Hoseok, trust yourself and all your family and friends. We’re all here for you and we want you to have the best day possible. Tell us if anything is wrong, okay? I have no doubt that Chungha and Soyeon would strong-arm everyone into whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable.” She says, smirking as she nods over to the two women who are chattering away in their respective chairs.

“I know, I know. I’m trying. It’s just...god, everyone is going to be staring at me and I hate being the centre of attention,” Looking down at your hands, you chew at your lips. “What if I mess up the vows? Or I freeze or drop the ring?”

“Hey, it’s normal to feel that. I doubt there’s anyone who’s gotten married who wasn’t at least a little bit anxious about messing something up. Yes, everyone is here to watch you, but they’re for Hoseok too. I’m sure he’s just as worried that he might make a mistake, and if you do then, so what? It’s not going to ruin anything, it just means your human. If anything, people will probably find it endearing. The only person you should concern yourself with is Hoseok, and I doubt there’s anything you could do today to ruin the day for him. Unless you don’t go.” Amelia laughs when you give a shocked gasp, jaw-dropping open and eyes wide.

“I would never do that! But what if he decides he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” Now the worry that had wiggled itself deep inside your mind comes to the fore and you find yourself almost whispering the words. It feels like a betrayal to Hoseok for even thinking he’d do that, but you can’t help the fear.

You must not have been quite enough though as Chungha speaks up, facing you in her chair with a stern expression on her face as she wags her finger. “Lady, do not think that. I don’t want that thought to even enter your head. As if Jung Hoseok is ever going to back out now. I think that man would’ve eloped with you if you’d asked instead. He’s going to be standing at the end of that aisle, probably bawling like a baby.”

“Maybe not that far.” This is from Eden, who’s laid out on the bed in the centre of the room, playing Zelda on her Switch. She’d had her makeup done earlier and is now waiting for the hairdresser to be free while Amelia is waiting for her makeup. All of you had decided that you’d be last to get ready to make sure that everything looked as fresh as possible.

“Want to bet? That man is gonna be sobbing.” This starts up a whole ten-minute discussion about whether or not Hoseok was going to cry at seeing you. Namjoon hadn’t cried but Jimin had during their weddings, surprising no one. But Namjoon had cried at the birth of his daughter.

You weren’t sure, to be honest. Hoseok didn’t cry all that often and you could probably count on one hand how many times you’d seen it over four years. On top of that, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to see him crying. It made your chest hurt when he did and you always ended up crying too.

Something about seeing strong and proud men cry was just heartbreaking to you.

For a while, you just sit back and let the conversation wash over you as they all debate and borderline argue, intensely amongst themselves. They’d all switched around now and they’ll soon start getting into their bridesmaid’s dresses, which meant you’d be finally getting ready.

Your nails had been done the night before with a beautiful design in the same colour scheme as the wedding. They looked so pretty and elegant, which was a surprise to you every time you looked at them as you never really bothered doing your nails. While you liked to do fancy makeup looks now and then to post onto social media, nails were not something you were interested in.

Maybe you should reassess that thought.

“Anyway, what we’re all trying, and failing, to say is that Hoseok loves you and if he doesn’t cry then he’s crying inside at how beautiful you are.” Soyeon states firmly, sitting next to you and admiring your nails as well. All the bridesmaids had the same style to keep the theme going and she wiggled her fingers with a bright smile.

“I’m not even ready yet, you don’t know if I’ll be beautiful.”

There’s dead silence in the room after the comment, with even the hairdresser and makeup artist turning to stare at you. Between the six other women in the room, you’re pretty sure that they’ve got every emotion from shock to annoyance to incredulity covered. Feeling yourself get warm at their attention, you look down to your lap in embarrassment.

Obviously, the wrong thing to say.

“Okay, we’re going to ignore that you just said that. You don’t need to be dolled up and in a wedding dress to be beautiful, it’s just going to enhance what you already have. And I don’t want any arguments on that.” Poking your side lightly, you playfully wince at Soyeon as she scolds you. Everyone else is nodding along solemnly before they carry on with whatever they’d been doing.

“Seriously though, I overheard your conversation with Amelia. She’s right. Embrace your feelings but don’t let them overwhelm you. Standing in front of a crowd is nerve-wracking for anyone, but you’ve got the love of your life standing there with you. Just focus on Hoseok, he’ll get you through it. He always has, right?” Soyeon said.

Giving her a half-smile, you nod and do a remarkably good job of looking like a scolded child or something. You know it’s just because she loves you that she doesn’t want you to berate yourself, along with the fact that she knows what you’re like. If someone doesn’t verbally acknowledge your problems then you’ll just obsess over them.

Your phone screen lights up in your lap before it begins to vibrate suddenly, Hoseok’s name visible on the screen. Frowning down at it, you wonder why he’s calling before a multitude of emotions and thoughts runs through your mind.

“Go take it in the bathroom.” Pulling you up, Soyeon practically pushes you into the bathroom before giving you a smile and a thumbs-up as she closes the door.

Seeing the other door is also open, you peek out and let everyone in that room know that you’d be using the bathroom for a few minutes and to not come in. Once you get the acknowledgement, you close and lock it as well before pushing up to sit on the counter.

“Hobi! Why are you calling?” Leaning back against the mirror, you frown deeply as you question him. The first response is just his familiar deep chuckle, the sound already helping to soothe some of your frayed nerves.

“Amelia texted Joon, who told me. I don’t want you to stress yourself out! Not today, today’s meant to be a happy day. No stress. Or anxiety.” Snorting, you roll your eyes as you trace an invisible design onto your thigh.

“Sure, like that’s gonna happen. You know me. And why are you calling? We’re not meant to see each other until the wedding, it’s bad luck!” There’s a brief pause and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes, the deep sigh he lets out telling you all you need to know.

“Meeps, I’m pretty sure that only counts for physically seeing each other. I can’t see you right now. I don’t recall anything about not being allowed to hear you, or talk to you. Besides, we make our luck.” He sounds so nonchalant and now it’s your turn to sigh at him.

“You’re going to get us hit by lightning or something.”

“Impossible, the weather schedule for today is meant to be sunny with a little bit of cloud later on. Nice warm temperatures that aren’t too hot but also not too cold. Perfect. No lightning.” His immediate rebuttal has you laughing, unable to stay mad at him for too long. Not when he’s trying so hard to take your mind off things.

“Seriously though, are you okay? What are you worried about? Talk to me.” Hoseok asks, his voice calm and steady as he stops joking around. There’s a brief moment of resistance, the thought that you don’t want to bother him with your silly thoughts or annoying emotions before you remember that you can trust him. No matter how ridiculous it sounds in your head, Hoseok will listen and he won’t make fun of you.

“I’m just...scared. Of all the people. Like, they’re going to be watching me or staring. What if I look fat or ugly? Or I fuck up saying the vows? Or I drop the ring or my dress splits or something? Or if I trip down the aisle?! Or if you decide you don’t want to marry me anymore?” As you begin to reel off the questions that have been plaguing your mind, you can feel your chest getting a little tighter and your breathing shallower.

With the practised ease of someone who’s dealt with your panic attacks over the years, Hoseok makes calming and reassuring noises over the phone until you’re silent. Just listening to him, you take in the comforting words as he lets you know that you’re okay and everything is fine. Finally, once he thinks you’re calm enough, he carries on.

“Meeps, that’s fine. Don’t be upset that you’re having those thoughts. I’ve had every one of those thoughts today as well. I mean...not the dress one. Substitute that for pants splitting or something, which is even more embarrassing because my underwear is not black today. But the point I’m trying to make here is that it’s normal to have those thoughts today. I’d probably be more worried if you weren’t having them.” He pauses to laugh before you hear shuffling noises.

There’s no doubt he’s probably not even getting into his tuxedo just yet and you curse the fact that men take far less time to get ready than women. He’ll probably only start like...an hour before the ceremony begins or something.

“But all I’ll say is, it doesn’t matter if anything goes wrong because we’ll fix it. You and me, just like always. You won’t look fat or ugly because you’re neither fat nor ugly anyway, instead, you’ll be the most beautiful woman here. Which you always are to me but don’t let my mom hear me tell you that. And I’m going to be standing at the end of the aisle, I promise you that. I’m the one who proposed to you and I will be there, waiting for you. That’s one thing I can assure you of completely.” Hoseok says this firmly, his voice perhaps more serious than you’ve ever heard it before.

You can practically feel his determination to make you understand that he’s going to be there. That he’s going to marry you today, no matter what happens. It makes your heart swell with love and emotion, causing you to press your hand against your mouth.

Hoseok takes your silence as a positive, choosing to let it carry on for a little longer before speaking once more.

“I love you, Meeps. And by the end of today, you’re going to be my wife. We’re going to have a great day with a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception before probably going to bed drunk. Or at least, I’m going to be drunk. Not entirely sure if I’ll be able to take you to Poundtown tonight-”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“But if not tonight then definitely tomorrow. Unless you don’t want me to drink, in which case probably tonight if you’re up for it.” Shaking your head, you can’t help but smile at his stupid comments. He always knew how to cheer you up, even if it was with the most ridiculous thing you’d heard today.

“You can drink, I’m not going to make you sober throughout the entire reception. I want you to have fun with everyone, so if you end up drunk then that’s fine. Just don’t go overboard.”

“Choosing to ignore my Poundtown comments, I see.”

“Jung Hoseok, I am going to hang up now. I will see you later, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” Feeling a little shy, you murmur your next words into the phone.

“Love you too.”

The ceremony is officially about to start and you stare at the open door, knowing that outside all your guests are waiting. Not only that, but Hoseok is at the end of the aisle. You’d been reassured by everyone there who had peeked out to make sure, quelling your fears and worries.

All the groomsmen had come inside upon finding out you were here, lining themselves up alongside their specified bridesmaid partners and chatting away happily. They all looked incredibly handsome in their suits, the colours matching the bridesmaids perfectly and you felt a little pride at having thought of a good colour scheme.

Your mom is fussing around you, making sure that your dress looks perfect and that your bouquet hasn’t fallen apart or anything. Sighing, you gently push her hands away as she tries once more to move your necklace.

All of them had given you something as part of the tradition for the bride. Dahyun had lent you a beautiful Cartier bracelet, glowing with diamonds, as part of the ‘something borrowed’ while Chungha had bought you diamond earrings for the ‘something new’. Your mom had given you the bracelet she’d worn for her wedding, now occupying your other wrist and Hoseok’s mom had provided the necklace adorning your neck.

It was a beautiful silver necklace with a dainty leaf design, leading to the main piece in the centre which was dotted with tiny diamonds. Each leaf spreading out had either amethyst or an aquamarine gem in alternating order. She’d ordered it specially made for your wedding, matching your engagement ring with the gems and fulfilling the ‘something blue’.

You’d been amazed at everything they’d given you, understanding now why they’d all told you now to buy any jewellery for the day. They’d all decided to make sure you had everything you needed anyway.

But you knew that your mom’s need to keep straightening out your dress or brushing away unseen dust was just to keep herself preoccupied. She’d already cried once when you’d come out in your wedding dress, makeup and hair all done. That had earned her an exasperated sigh from the makeup artist.

“Mom, mom, come on,” You coo to her, smiling before taking her hands and squeezing. “You gotta go out there, go get your place.”

She hesitates for a moment, unwilling to leave you before nodding. After a few words of reassurance from her to you, telling you that you’re going to do well and it’s all going to go fine, she turns and hugs your dad tightly before kissing him. You’d feel embarrassed at the sight of it, never quite being comfortable with your parents' displays of affection, but it just causes you to laugh softly.

Once she’s out the door, you hear the music begin from outside, the notes flowing through the door faintly. Everyone inside quietens and you can almost feel the excitement ramp up. It just makes you feel more nervous though, particularly when they start to head out in their pairs slowly.

“Are you ready?” Your dad asks, his eyes already going glassy with tears as his lip wobbles slightly. Giving him a concerned look, you immediately reach up to wipe the tears as they start to fall, feeling your heartbreak at the sight of your dad crying. He never cried.

“Dad! Don’t cry, oh my god. I’m sorry.” Cleaning up his face quickly, you’re stopped by the gentle way he grasps your wrists. For a moment, you think that he’s going to push you away but instead, he pulls you closer and carefully hugs you.

It’s a little awkward as you’re trying not to ruin the carefully done hair and makeup, but you can’t deny your dad a hug. Especially when you’d never really been much of a hugger growing up. You would be cruel to deny him one, especially on your wedding day. Your parents were feeling emotional that their little girl was getting married today.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just your old dad getting sappy. You look so beautiful. Hoseok is so lucky, you better remind him of that every day.” He’s pulled back now, giving you the softest smile that is still a little watery. His hands move to your shoulders and he stands back to examine you fully, his eyes taking in everything.

Before you can respond to him, Yoongi is disappearing out of the door and heading towards the aisle. He’s alone, as you’d planned, but in one hand is the bouquet that Hoseok’s sister would’ve held had she still been alive. It had been his suggestion to hold it, symbolising the family member that Hoseok didn’t have anymore and you’d been more than willing to agree.

You wondered what Hoseok thought when he saw it as neither of you had told him that Yoongi would be holding it. Hopefully, he was happy with it, along with his parents.

Turning back to you, your dad squeezes your shoulders reassuringly before smiling at you. Ironically, all it does is make you more nervous as you realise that now you’re the one who’s going to have to walk down that aisle next.

“Come on, it’s time to make your fiancé cry.” His words in a teasing tone, your dad turns to face the door before offering you his arm. Standing there, you stare at him before looking at the door with trepidation. Nerves roil in your stomach as you hear the faint sound of music playing, knowing that everyone out there is waiting for you.

Which in turn means everyone will be staring at you.

Those nerves quickly turn to anxiety and your breath comes faster, chest feeling a little constricted by the tight bodice of the dress. Without even realising it, your hands start to shake and the bouquet in them shudders visibly.

Quickly, your dad takes the bouquet from you to make sure that you don’t accidentally deflower them or crush the stems. The last thing you needed was to ruin your perfect bouquet only minutes before you were supposed to walk down the aisle.

It frees up your hands and you find yourself flapping them as you stress, trying to shake out the negative emotions as you pant. Your dad’s eyes widen, obviously panicking himself at your obvious distress. He’s never had to deal with you struggling like this before and he doesn’t know what to do but his paternal instincts kick in quickly.

“Hey, come on, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe. Take a big breath in, come on, that’s it. Not let it out slowly. And again, that’s right.” Talking to you in his comforting voice, tone level and low, you follow his instructions and start to feel a little calmer as you force yourself to calm your breathing. It’s hard, and you still feel the anxiety but it feels a little more manageable now.

Closing your eyes, you run through all the tips your therapist had given you for how to cope with anxiety attacks. What worked for you was to sing in your head, the lyrics, whatever song you were loving lately. It probably takes longer than you’d have liked but finally you feel like you can cope with your emotions enough to carry on.

When you open your eyes again, your dad is giving you an expectant, yet worried, look. Shaking your hands once more, you reach out and take the bouquet from him before taking a deep breath. Linking your arm through his, you straighten your shoulders and lift your chin before smiling at him.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

Walking down the aisle is surprisingly less stressful than you’d imagined. The famous wedding song plays through the air as you walk slowly and the whole atmosphere feels almost like a fairytale. The soft lights twinkle even in the daylight while the gentle, warm breeze makes the ribbons on the chairs flutter delicately.

Along the floor, the white and purple rose petals that Namjoon’s daughter had spread in her role as flower girl were strewn haphazardly. A few of them caught the breeze and rolled delicately to a new place, making it seem like the floor was consistently changing. You liked it, smiling at the sight of how beautiful everything looked.

Everyone was staring at you, as you’d expected, but surprisingly it wasn’t as intimidating as you’d thought. You didn’t exactly enjoy it but it wasn’t terrible. Probably because you were more focused on initially admiring how perfect everything looked. How months and months of thought and money had finally accumulated into the perfect wedding.

But mostly, you weren’t as bothered by the staring because you were focused on the end of the aisle. There was no real altar here, given that it was being held at a hotel and everything, but the metal garden arch at the end had been decorated in delicate flowers, ribbons and lights to make an even better end.

And beneath it stood Hoseok.

If you’d ever thought Hoseok looked handsome before then it paled in comparison to him today. His black tuxedo made him look tall and slim, every part of him looking perfectly put together and elegant. The deep purple waistcoat beneath his jacket contrasted with the white of his shirt perfectly; the colour combination making his skin almost glow with health and happiness.

There was only the slightest hint of tattoos at the edge of his collar, leaving to the imagination the artwork he had permanently on his body beneath his clothes but you didn’t need to imagine. You’d seen them all, traced them delicately into your memory over the years until you could point out where they were without even seeing them.

Finally reaching him, you paused to look at your dad and gave him a bright smile of gratitude before giving him a second hug. This one was a little tighter than before and when you let go of him, you saw that he was crying once more. He didn’t give your hand to Hoseok, instead just gave him a stern look while trying to surreptitiously wipe away his tears.

“You look after her, Jung Hoseok. You make sure she’s the happiest woman.” There’s iron in his voice, telling Hoseok that it wasn’t a question but more a command. But there’s also love and affection in it, something Hoseok can tell as well by the way he nods his head.

Handing your bouquet to Chungha, you take Hoseok’s proffered hand. Up close, you can take in the details of his face better and you take a moment to simply admire him and imprint him into your memory.

The sides of his head had been shaven, the undercut short and seen with the style he’d chosen to wear today. His hair had been styled back, pushed away from his forehead. It was a look that had made you weak in the knees many times over the years and you’d practically begged him to have it for the wedding, knowing that he’d blow everyone’s mind with how handsome he looked.

Hoseok had a face that looked like it had been hand-carved by the gods from the finest marble anyway and this hairstyle showed off all the highlights of his face. The high cheekbones that made his smiles so animated, his cutting jawline, the clean slope of his nose, the heart-shaped smile that lit his entire face and the dimples that made him seem so human.

His lip ring was still in, the silver shining in the sunlight. He’d been unsure whether to wear it but you’d told him to embrace himself and keep it. You’d fallen in love with him as he was, and you wanted him to show himself how you saw him. Which included his piercings and tattoos.

Your heart clenched though when you looked into his eyes finally. Hoseok’s eyes were one of your favourite things about him. The crescents they turned into when he smiled brightly, pushed into the shape by his cheeks and the way his eyes could practically dance with delight when he was happy.

Today though, those beautiful and expressive eyes were watery with tears. The wet streak on his cheek told you that he’d already had some of them fall and you frowned at the sight of them. Everyone had been right; Hoseok had cried upon seeing you down the aisle.

“Baby.” You whisper, unsure if you’re meant to talk to him. Deciding you don’t care, you reach up to wipe away the tears and smile when he kisses the palm of your hand before nuzzling into it, uncaring of everyone else.

“Meeps, you look perfect. I read your letter, I love you too.” Before you can stop him, he’s leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. There’s a murmur in the crowd, alongside some laughter and he looks over at everyone with a raised brow.

No one says anything though and he gets a satisfied look, ignoring your shy expression as you turn away from everyone.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” Keeping your voice low, you give a hesitant smile to the official who will be taking you both through your ceremony. Hoseok lets out a snort of laughter as he squeezes your hand tight, letting his thumb run along the back of your hand lovingly.

“I don’t care. It’s our wedding, I’ll do what I want.” And before you can stop him, he turns you and gives you another kiss, this one lingering a little longer. Eyes widening, you can’t help but giggle as you hear yet more laughter.

You should be annoyed at him, but you know he’s a force of nature. Plus, you don’t care. It feels nice to know he can’t help himself.

“Okay, let’s get married, Meeps.” He grins at you before facing the officiant once more. Staring at him a moment longer, you smile at him and nod.

“Let’s get married.”

Hobi Hobi,

We’re getting married today! Are you excited? I hope you’re reading this when I told you to, if not then you’re cheating >:[ it feels weird to write a letter. I don’t even know if I’ve ever done this before, so I’m sorry if it sounds really cheesy and lame. What do people write in these normally? I’m just going to write what comes to mind so if it ends up sappy then you’re not allowed to tease me later about it.

Anyway, I want you to know that I’m sorry that I suck so much at telling you how I feel and my emotions. I wish I could be one of those people who’s telling you every moment how handsome you are and how much I love you but I can’t. I’m sorry :( I’m trying, I swear! Even if I don’t get to tell you as often as you deserve, I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world.

Don’t ever forget that, okay? Even when we’re arguing over something silly or we go to bed mad at each other, don’t forget that. I know we’re pretty good at talking things out but there’s always that chance that we could have a big blowout. So I want you to remember that I love you.

I’m still not entirely sure what I did to deserve you, but I don’t regret sending you that message. If anything, I think I should send the Flower team a big bunch of flowers or something for creating the algorithm that brought you up as a match. Imagine if it hadn’t and I’d just deleted the app, we’d have never met and I’d still be lonely and sad.

But we did meet, and I took a chance on you by sending you that embarrassing message. And then you took a chance by actually meeting up with me and going on that date. I still remember it, and I don’t know if I ever told you but I still have the ticket for the escape room. I know you still have yours in your wallet :) Thank you for giving me your time, even if I wasn’t your type. I hope I’m your type now.

I’m not sure that I will ever be able to tell you how important you are to me. Not only myself but my life. You’ve helped me to embrace myself and learn to love myself over the years through kindness. I know my limits in terms of my mental health now and you’ve helped to support me with the medication and the therapist. Neither of those were things I’d been comfortable with doing before your encouragement. But you also gave me a safe space to break down in; somewhere that I knew I could be at my most vulnerable mentally without having to risk being hurt even more.

You held me when I cried, you comforted me when I panicked and you calmed my anxiety over the years. I can never thank you enough for helping me to understand that these aren’t deficiencies and I’m not broken. I just need a little help to get through things sometimes. At the same time, I hope that I’ve become that safe space for you as well. I know that you’re not as emotional as I am, but I feel that you’ve opened up to me about things that hurt you. I’ll keep your secrets safe and I’ll always be here for you!

I hope you’re happy with your life now. With me, and our home and our furbabies. I hope you stay happy, and if you don’t then talk to me. Please. I don’t want us to ever realise that we’re making each other unhappy and I don’t want to ever be the reason for negativity. I want to spend the rest of my life with you in our little home, growing old together as we play board games and dote on our animals while you increase your tattoo collection even more. I know that people like to say that they can’t imagine their lives with their significant other, but I really do feel like that.

My life without you would be hollow and monochrome, as you bring colour to my world and fill it with joy and happiness. I’ve never laughed as much as I have these last few years with you and I know we’ll keep that in our relationship if we try hard.

I don’t really know where this letter is going and I’m babbling now. But I guess the main thing is just that I can’t wait to marry you. It may not be very feminist of me but I can’t wait to take your name and be your wife. I can’t wait to call you my husband. I’m going to be terrified in the ceremony and so nervous but I’ll be happy too, I promise! I still can’t believe that you picked me, out of all the women you’ve seen, to be your girlfriend and then decided that you wanted to marry me.

Jung Hoseok, I solemnly swear to treasure you for the rest of your life and make sure you know how much I love you. I might not be able to tell you all that much, but I’ll show you. I’ll make you smile and laugh, I’ll buy you things that make me think of you, I’ll hug you tight and cuddle you until you’re complaining.

So in case it wasn’t obvious enough, I love you. I just want you to know because I know I suck at telling you, like I said. I’m also bad at writing letters but what’s new? I’ll finish this off quickly so you’re not spending too long reading this. Don’t want to make you late for our wedding after all.

I love you. I love you, Jung Hoseok. I love you, Hobi. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Lots and lots and lots of love, your soon to be wife <333333

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

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Idk if you are still taking prompts, but you know the vine two dudes chilling in a hot tub 5 feet apart cause they're not gay, and a girl quoting it in a park about two girls in the distance and one of them hearing and going "Actually I am gay" Like that scenario, only involving them fixing the boat? Maybe Sarah quoting it to give Sam shit when she thinks Bucky cant hear and Bucky goes "Wait, no I'm gay" or something, or just the general gist of that. Sorry if this us too specific, I've never sent anyone a prompt before :P

Hello Friend! Thank you so much for sending anything in at all! I know the vine you're talking about, but I couldn't find it on Youtube. (I did find a two day rabbit hole of old compilations though) This was also my first foray into writing Sarah as a fully fleshed character! I was excited to get the practice 'cause I had an idea bouncing around in my head about her and Bucky talking after he wakes up in the Wilson house. I kept her a little more like she had been in my other fics pre-show here. I so wish we got a little more of her!

Feel free, anyone, to send me Sambucky prompts!

The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation

Sarah Wilson loved her brother deeply. The kind of soul crushing love that could only be formed through family, loss, and approximately four thousand brawls around the living room throughout their life. She looked up to her brother more than she could ever imagine looking up to anyone. Even when they were fighting or picking on each other, she couldn’t help but feel a swell in her chest when he came into her line of sight.

That didn’t mean she understood him. In fact, from the age of eight, watching her brother interact with the world had become her go-to pastime. Why did he have to roll every pea around the plate individually before eating them? Why did he and his friends spend seven years socking each other in the arm to prove friendship? Why did he talk to himself in the mirror, even when he knew Sarah or someone else was standing in the doorway?

Sam Wilson was just deeply weird. She had no idea how he had tricked the Avengers, a plethora of bad guys, and half of the media world into thinking he was remotely cool. She saw a news story once that had King T’Challa standing on a platform with Sam and the newscasters talked about how impressive Sam’s suit was. It was unnatural, the effect he had on people.

And in all her years, she never thought she’d see anyone weirder than Sam. But then James Barnes had showed up. It was like a complete reversal of Sam. Sarah was taken in for approximately three hours by his charm and face before she realized he too was deeply, deeply weird.

She justified sitting on the edge of the Paul and Darlene, watching her brother and James Barnes spar off about some dumb trivia fact, by deciding it was an anthropological expedition. The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation. She watched Sam watch Barnes take a long pull off his beer. She watched Barnes kick his feet up near Sam’s legs and then draw them back quickly when a current jolted the boat. She watched Barnes’ fingers tap-tap-tap against the edge of the boat, inching closer to Sam’s shoulder before he chickened out and brought his hand back to his own lap. She watched Sam suggest Bucky take his jacket off, ‘unless you plan on sun blinding me with the robocop arm.’ She watched Sam look away when Barnes did shrug his jacket off.

When she was seventeen and Sam was fifteen, she had found Sam crying in his room, pillow pressed to his face to muffle the noise. They were at the age where going into each other’s rooms uninvited started international conflicts, but Sarah, who watched her brother intently, felt like she knew what was going on. So she let herself in through their Jack-and-Jill bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Sam didn’t stop crying, not even to yell at her to get out, so she sat on the end of his bed and rolled a baseball under her foot for a while. Finally, she’d said, “You don’t have to tell Mom and Dad, y’know.”

Sam had just about wailed and bit the corner of his pillow to stop himself.

“That’s gross, stop it,” Sarah ordered and pushed Sam’s shoulder back enough to yank his pillow free and then reached over to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I should make you do the laundry this week so I know I’m not touching your snot germs,” she teased softly.

“How did you know?” Sam hiccuped out. Tears were still brimming at his eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“I’m your older sister. I made you. Like a doll. You think there’s something about you that I don’t know?” she joked. And when the tears did spill over his long lashes, she sighed and pulled him closer to her side. “I just know the way you interact with that boy from the basketball team ain’t just friendly.”

“Jesus, do you think he can tell?” Sam asked and she could hear the mortification in his voice.

“Sam, he’s a freshman in high school. The only thing he knows is that he’s scared of everything too. No one’s paying that much attention to you.”

“Screw you,” Sam muttered.

“What’re all these tears for you if you didn’t make a move and get shot down?”

“God, Sarah, can you not say things like that?”

“Watch your mouth,” Sarah warned with no heat in her voice. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“I just…” Sam sat up and worked his jaw for a while. His chin dimpled and his eyes watered but he managed to control himself. “I’m scared, Sarah. I’m scared of never being in love. Of having to leave if I am. I’m scared to say something and I’m scared not to say something. I’m so scared of...losing any of it.”

“Sam,” Sarah sighed and pulled Sam into another hug. “You’re fifteen. You’re not supposed to be in love yet. You don’t have to think about any of that. You just have to focus on passing Geometry, alright? Mom’ll whoop your ass more for failing than anything else.”

“I have a B+, that’s not failing!” Sam snapped. He kept his face against her shoulder for a second long before he sat up and wiped his tears away. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I gonna tell? I told you, my friends don’t like you as much as you think they do.”

“Your friends like me more than they like you,” Sam shot back and he almost sounded normal.

Sarah smiled softly and patted Sam’s cheek. “I won’t tell Mom or Dad. Of course not. That’s for you to do. But--”

“I’m always going to tell them when you sneak out the window.”

“No! Sam! You can’t! You owe me now!”

“Going to field parties is not the same thing!” Sam said in a shriek as Sarah leaned over to pinch his sides. They grappled for a second before Sam managed to push Sarah off the bed.

“You owe me,” she reminded him as she walked back to the bathroom.

Sam wiped his eyes again and nodded. “Sure, Sarah. I do.”

Sam almost had the same look on his face now. Like there was something he wanted to reach for that he thought was too impossible to hold. The Older Sister Instinct to Antagonize into a Solution kicked in.

“Two bros, chilling on a boat, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay,” she sing-songed. Sam looked mortified again but masked his face into something more irritated with a roll of his eyes when Barnes looked over at him.

“Ignore her. It’s this old video--” Sam started.

But Bucky interrupted to say, “Actually I am gay,” as he looked back over at Sarah. “Sorry if I got your hopes up,” he added with a grin that really did get the hopes up.

“What?” Sam asked and Sarah, ever watchful, could see the beer bottle shaking in his hand.

“What?” Bucky repeated innocently.

“He said he’s gay,” Sarah clarified.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Sam ground out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky snorted. “When would I have said anything? ‘Sorry for ripping your wings off and kicking you off of a hellicarrier, by the way I’m gay.’?”

“You did what?” Sarah asked.

“‘Sorry for claiming I didn’t bomb the UN only to be reverted back to the assassin who would have done that and then fighting you again. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Thanks for saving my life. Sorry about the giant undersea prison. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘There’s an imminent battle with weird ass space dogs that want to eat our faces. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Sorry about Tony Stark, whose life I kind of ruined. Lovely funeral. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘I’m in the middle of being pissed at you about the Shield. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Maybe don’t take me rolling through a field of flowers. It does things to me ‘cause I’m gay.’ ‘John Walker’s fucking insane. I’m gay, but definitely not for this bullshit.’ I mean, come on, Sam.”

“Flowers?” Sarah asked.

“Besides, why would you care? I don’t make it a habit of telling straight guys I’m into guys.”

“You don’t seem to make a habit of telling many people that,” Sarah pointed out. “I googled you. Nothing suggesting that came up.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m a guy from the 30s. It was trained out of me.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sarah said quickly. “Back up away from that because we’re not gonna try to Oppression Olympics our way through our histories. Did you just say Sam was straight?”

“Sarah!” Sam hissed.

“Sure. I mean, I saw him with Romanov. Hill. He has Tinder on his phone.”

“Samuel Thomas, you better not,” Sarah warned lightly. “You’re better than that.”

“He’s a lady-killer.”

Sarah snorted and had to bring her hand up to her face. “He definitely is not. There has been no lady-killing on his end for a long time.”

“Sarah!” Sam tried again.

“You explain it to him then. Mr. 30s is gonna need the long way round explanation.”

Sam sighed and dragged his hand over his face. “Dammit. Fine. I’m not straight either, alright? I’m...bi, or something. It’s been a while since I’ve had to think about it.”

“What?” Bucky asked, not unlike Sam had.

“He said he’s bisexual. Interested in both parties. Swings either way. Hit a homerun and then hasn’t really swung since.”

“Sarah, Jesus Christ,” Sam groaned.

“What?” Bucky asked again.

“I was engaged. To a man,” Sam said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the irony.

“Oh, it was inconvenient for you but I had plenty of opportunities, huh?” Sam asked. “Ms. Tell-It-All over there wasn’t joking. I haven’t swung any direction in a while. Not since before I met Steve. My fiance died. And then it never came up.”

Bucky blinked at Sam. He kept bringing the bottle halfway up his body and then setting it back on his leg without ever taking a drink. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, which was not what Sarah was expecting and it clearly wasn’t what Sam was expecting because Sam finally moved closer to Bucky on the bench.

“What for? You didn’t do anything. This time.”

“Yeah, but if I’d known you were into me too, I woulda kissed you in Germany.”

“Oh, I am so not into you,” Sam denied. “And I wouldn’t have our first kiss ruined by immediately running into the government’s roving show monkey.”

“That’s the worst,” Bucky agreed and also finally moved over on the bench until they were pressed thigh to thigh. “Tell me how much you don’t like me again,” he challenged.

“I can’t stand you,” Sam answered and brought his hand up to Bucky’s jaw.

Sarah couldn’t fight down the grin that came to her face and turned to prop her feet on the pier, back to Sam and Bucky. Just this once, she didn’t need to watch her brother to understand him.

Read on AO3 here!

#anonymous #prompts #sambucky #writing #fanfiction #i answer things #sarah wilson #sam wilson #bucky barnes

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years

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Can you write something where the shyest boys finally kiss their crush at a party in a human au. But then some other mischievous character catches it on camera. Then they try to show it to everyone to tease them? (Not really maliciously more playfully. More like a trickster.) Sorry, but I am a sucker for shy characters since I am shy myself.

So my shy boys in my human AU are Japan, Canada, Russia and England (I'd put Romano but he's just a lone wolf who tends to bite when he's disturbed. Metaphorically.)

A/N: I HIT ONE OF MY NOTIFICATION POP UPS AND IT FORCED ME OUT OF THE FIRST DRAFT! I had to redo Japan and Canada's scenerios •́ J ,•̀

Human AU: Shy Boys kiss their crush! On TAPE!?

Japan:

He wasn't really enjoying the party Alfred was throwing. The only reason he was there was over the fact he promised to record some footage for a homemade music video, and he knew his crush was going to be there.

At some point he found himself watching his crush as they danced away with their friends. Was it kind of creepy? Yes. Did Kiku realize this at the moment? No.

He just about jumped out of his skin as his crush made eye contact with him, and his heartbeat quickened as they started dancing towards him.

"Hey Kiku! I thought you didn't like parties?"

"H-hai! I do not usually partake in such events, but I promised Alfred I'd get footage for one of his YouTube videos..."

His crush's head tilted, not hearing him through the loud music and talking. Even with him shouting he wasn't loud enough. So naturally he had them follow him to the porch.

He could have sworn that every star in the night sky was reflecting in his crush's eyes as they were waiting for him to repeat his anwser.

"I have to admit to some urges that have been occuring..." (Not what he was hoping he'd say)

Kiku cringed at his wording, and cursed himself for cramming so many english classes in before he transferred to America. He only calmed back down after hearing his crush laugh and egg him on to continue.

"I... kisu si te ii desu ka?" (Can I kiss you?)

Even though he was rather nervous, he was pretty close with his crush. During their lunches they asked him to teach them japanese so they can help him with translations. Even after two years they still had trouble with it.

"... What about a kiss? oh! Did you kiss someone at the party!"

His face turned red, and he shook it rapidly.

"No! You!"

"What do I have to do with a kiss and you- Oh!"

Kiku covered his face as his crush slowly caught on to his question. Soon enough they had taken his hands away, and lightly pecked his lips.

Flash.

That looked like the flash of a camera. Sure enough Alfred and England were standing at the doorway, polaroid camera in hand. Al being his usual loud self.

"I saw you bring them out here and just KNEW something was going to happen! Didn't I tell you, you had it in you! Now the whole class must know of your bravery!"

By the time Alfred finished his speech, Kiku was already after him. Sadly he was no match for Al's speed due to tripping over everyone, and everything.

Canada:

It wasn't like he was exactly shy, but he didn't have many friends since not many people in his class had much in common with him. His only real friend was his crush, so of course he was terrified to ruin that friendship. Though the constant jokes the others at the party made didn't help, since most of it revolved around them dating.

He was also getting more and more frustrated with the amount of attention his crush was getting. Some of it they welcomed with open arms, some of it not so much. The thing that really annoyed him was seeing Alfred himself flirt with them.

This was the final straw that gave him the courage to walk up to him, and accuse him directly.

"Why are you flirting with my date?"

"Date? I thought you said they were just a friend?"

Mathew had turned his head towards his crush, and planted a light kiss on their lips.

"There. Now we are!"

Matt's face went pale as he realized the scene that was playing out got the attention of some party goers. Phones already recording in case a fight broke out. Leaving no possibly way to get everyone to delete those videos.

Not realizing his crush had a hold of his hand to prevent any conflict, he tugged them out the door, trying his best to shield his face.

Once outside they both sat on the stone slabs of the sidewalk. Matt's crush clearing their throat to help stop the akward moment.

"You know... If you wanted to kiss me, you should have just asked..."

"Oh maple leaf! I am so sorry! I didn't even know I had it in me!"

His crush shook their head, chuckling, then leaned in for another kiss.

"There. Now we're even."

All matt could do was repeat their words with a dreamy sigh.

"Now we're even..."

Russia:

Ivan was already pretty shy, but he really wanted to hangout with his crush. So he let them rope him into going to the party Francis was having. It was a small party, so it wasn't all bad. Other than no one wanting to talk to him due to his lack of English.

His crush was certainly doing plenty of talking through out the night though, and they eventually pulled him aside to ask him something.

"Hey, Ivan? You okay? You don't look like you're enjoying yourself much".

His crush knew to keep sentences as simple and short as possible since he struggled with English. But he still managed a good enough response.

"Da. I am... Not good at the parties. Not one person, speeches? To Ivan..."

His crush smiled, reaching up to playfully ruffle his hair, earning a small giggle.

"You mean to say 'no one speaks to me'. I'm sorry. It can be hard, da?"

He nodded at them. Giving a smile knowing his crush at least tries to conversate with him. But there was something else on his mind. The more they talked, the more he seemed to stare at their lips. He was struggling more and more with hiding his blush. Eventually his crush took it as a sign he was overheating and they dragged him to the bathroom to splash water to his face.

"It is too warm for a turtle neck and scarf! Your face is very warm!"

Ivan shook his head, face getting redder from the embarrassment.

"Nyet!"

His crush gave a look of confusion, and Ivan took this as a sign to try and explain.

"You do much of the talking. I... Do much of the seeing. Nyet. I do much of the-"

He gestured his gaze to his crush's lips, unable to convey his message and when it still didn't sink in for them, Ivan did the next best thing out of pure frustration.

He kissed them. It felt like forever, but it was cut too short as the sound of a gasp interrupted them. Breaking away he spotted Francis standing at the door that was left wide open. A phone with the light on, signalling it was recording them.

"Oh ho ho! This is quite the confession! A love that goes beyond language barriers is just as strong as love itself!"

Ivan couldn't seem to follow Francis' words, especially because he was more concerned with the phone footage.

"You take video for just us, da?"

Francis gave a smirk and took off without another word. Ivan wasn't dumb when it came to body language, and he took off after him. Taking no time at all to corner Francis, scaring everyone else as the two of them bickered over the phone.

"Throw out the phone!"

"I will do no such thing!

"I will throw you instead!"

It took his crush snagging the phone and deleting the video for everything to finally settle back down.

England:

He was kind of popular in the sense everyone knew him as the punk kid who could play the electric guitar. But so did others students so he wasn't exactly special. So yeah, he was wicked shy and insecure about how everyone viewed him.

But his crush seemed to treat him differently, and honestly? He was secretly hoping that meant they really liked him. Maybe even more than liked!

The best part is, he wasn't even expecting his crush to show up at some random person's party. He, himself, was only there to help a band entertain. But there they were, his crush, dancing and bopping along to the music.

He found himself making a lot of eye contact with them, and when the first break came around, he bounced off the makeshift stage. His crush immediately walking over to him to pester.

"That was amazing! I didn't know you played so well!"

Arthur pulled at his bangs.

"Thanks love. It means quite a lot coming from you. Especially because you didn't expect to see me here, of all places..."

"Actually I-"

Before they could continue, they were dragged off by some of their friends to be introduced to someone. He decided to follow, wanting to know what the fuss was about. And of course his crush's friends were trying to hook them up with... Francis...

He gave a verbal sigh, watching his crush shift uncomfortably as Francis did his best to act all suave. His crush looked back at him with pleading eyes. This gave him an idea.

He walked over, slinging an arm around their shoulder, speaking up and over their conversation.

"There you are darling! I've been searching the whole bloody house for you! Oh, hello Francis. I didn't see you there!"

Things got intense, and before anyone knew it, Francis and Arthur had gotten into a fist fight. There wasn't a particular winner, but Arthur certainly left the fight with the only bruised lip. Sitting at one of the spare couches, his crush tended to the bruise.

"I can't believe you did that! Are you nuts? Why do you two fight anyway!"

"I'm sorry love... It's just... He gets in the way is all".

"In the way of what? Some male pride?"

"...you"

Silence filled the space between them, only to be broken by the chaste and airy kiss from his crush.

"I didn't know..."

"Part of me didn't want you too..."

Neither of them knew someone had recorded them until the day they returned to the college. Someone had thought it was funny to make a "fancam" of Arthur "fighting for his loved one". The only words his new lover could mutter was:

"At least no one is going to have to ask us if we're together now..."

#hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia japan #hetalia canada #hetalia russia #hetalia england #human au

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haikyuuhoo · 3 years

Text

Contemporaneous - Chapter 2

Pairing: Atsumu x F!Reader

Summary: In which you are so incredibly lucky to exist at the same time as Atsumu Miya. Or, perhaps, it’s the exact opposite…

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Swearing, talk about dyeing hair when in reality I have never dyed hair or had my hair dyed lmao.

A/N: This turned out a bit longer than I anticipated, but I hope y’all like it! As always, feel free to let me know what you think :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

If you had to guess when everything changed, you’d probably say it was the day you helped the twins dye their hair. It was such a mundane thing, but it was so weirdly different than you were used to. They insisted that since they’d be going to a new school where they didn’t know many people it would be helpful for people to tell them apart. There was nothing they, with their competitive natures, hated more than being mistaken for their twin.

You were sat on the counter in their bathroom, Atsumu sitting between your legs as you applied the blonde hair dye to his head. The three of you had been at this for hours; the time it took to bleach their hair enough to prepare it for the dye had felt like an eternity. Their mom had helped with that part, insisting that if her boys were going to dye their hair she wasn’t going to let them mess it up.

“Stop squirming,” you mumbled to Atsumu, trying to focus on making sure you were getting everything evenly coated.

“’S boring just sitting here,” he complained, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Would you rather do this yourself?”

He stiffened up for a moment before letting his shoulders slump. You couldn’t see his face, but you assumed from the way Osamu snickered that he was pouting. “No. Sorry.”

“Good, now shut up,” you sighed.

Silence settled over the room and you felt your cheeks starting to heat up as you looked down at Atsumu. He seemed like he was dozing off with the way his shoulders rose and fell rhythmically with his breaths.

“Done,” you finally announced. You looked over at your phone and pressed play on the YouTube tutorial you three had found on how to dye hair at home. You were about to be first-year high school students, after all, you didn’t really have any clue what you were doing. “We’ll check it in a bit and see if we need to touch it up, I guess,” you finally added.

Atsumu let out a soft hum of acknowledgement and got up to switch spots with his twin.

As you got Osamu’s color ready you couldn’t help but glance over at Atsumu who was closing his eyes again. The sight made something erupt inside you, and you tried to push it away as you turned your attention to his brother.

“Okay,” you said and cleared your throat, “I think this color should be easier.”

You didn’t know what had come over you, but you continued to steal glances at Atsumu, and the butterflies that had swarmed in your stomach fluttered their wings every time your gaze landed on his content face.

The beginning of your first year of high school was when things really started going downhill. Well, downhill for you at least.

For the twins, everything was going up.

They were on the volleyball team for a powerhouse school, they were improving every day, and they were starting to get even more attention than normal. They were getting attention for their talent, of course, but they were also getting female attention. A lot of it.

A frown had settled on your lips as you stepped out of your classroom and into the hallway. You were supposed to meet the twins for lunch, something you’d done for years, so today shouldn’t have been any different.

But it was.

A crowd had formed in the hallway, and you already knew what it was for by the way the girls squealed their names. Your best friends’ names. You pushed your way through the crowd, finally making your way to your friends and tugging on the back of Osamu’s blazer when you reached him. “’Samu,” you breathed, and the twins turned to look at you. “’Tsumu,” you added, quickly looking away. “Uh, lunch?”

Osamu nodded immediately, and Atsumu had a small bit of decency to give the crowd of girls an apologetic smile as they returned to your classroom with you to eat lunch.

You could practically feel the dozens of pairs of eyes glaring daggers into your back, and a cold sweat rose on the back of your neck.

The routine was the same nearly every day, but you started to grow tired of the way some girls would go out of their way to pull on your hair or your clothes or attempt to trip you as you made your way through the crowd.

So one day, you didn’t.

You stayed at your desk when everyone was excused for lunch, and you silently pulled your bento out. You could hear the excited squeals coming from the hallway and you grimaced. It nearly made you lose your appetite. But you tried to ignore it, even though you were getting more and more discouraged with each passing minute that you ate alone.

“Hey,” Atsumu said, catching up to you as you exited the school at the end of the day to walk home. You were doing that more and more often recently since the twins always had practice after school, and sometimes you considered joining a club yourself so that you would be able to walk home with them again. He was already in his practice clothes, evidence that he’d run from the gym just to catch you before you left.

You looked up and gave him a small smile. “Hey. Don’t you have practice?”

“Why didn’t ya come get us to eat lunch today?” he asked with a frown, ignoring your question.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. You hadn’t thought he cared. Besides, if they wanted to eat lunch with you, they could have just come to your classroom. “I just thought you’d come by if you wanted to eat together,” you explained. “But I get it, it’s kinda hard to ignore all that attention you two are getting, huh?” you laughed, giving him a bright grin in an attempt to hide the way you were feeling inside.

He frowned. “Yer kinda like our way of getting outa there,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s hard to say no to them otherwise.”

You scoffed. “I doubt that I’m really your ticket out. They don’t really like me, anyway.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Whadda ya mean?”

“’Tsumu,” you sighed with a roll of your eyes. “You’ve got a group of fan girls and every day I come and take you away from them. I’d go as far as to say they hate me.”

Atsumu let out a soft “Tch,” and crossed his arms. “Well who cares what they think? Yer our best friend. I only care about what you think.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, tugging on the strap of your backpack. You looked away from him, eyes settling on a tree at the front of the school that was swaying in the afternoon breeze. “Well, I don’t particularly enjoy having to push through that crowd every day, so why don’t you just practice telling them no? You’re gonna have to deal with this for three years, you know.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted before he could get any words out.

“Atsumu,” Suna called, sticking his head out of the doors of the gym. “Coach says to get inside so we can start practice or he’ll have you run laps.”

Atsumu sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’ll see you later.”

You nodded and started to take a few steps away from him. “If you want to eat lunch with me tomorrow, come find me. I don’t think I’ll like eating alone for three years,” you teased, trying not to let on how much it actually bothered you.

He rolled his eyes and gave you a smirk that made your stomach flutter. “As if we’ll have fan girls for three years. It’ll blow over by the end of the season, just watch.”

But it didn’t blow over. In fact, it only got worse.

And Atsumu didn’t come sit with you at lunch every day.

Osamu almost always did—you couldn’t separate him from his food if you tried—but Atsumu skipped most days.

“I think he just likes the attention,” Osamu had said one day through a mouthful of rice.

You shrugged, chopsticks pushing around the food in your bento. “I can’t really blame him,” you sighed, cheek resting on your free hand. “I just wish he’d at least tell us.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Ya know that isn’t like him. Hasn’t been for three years.”

“I know,�� you groaned, leaning back in your chair and letting your head fall back in frustration. “I just miss him, y’know?”

“Gross,” Osamu laughed before shoveling more rice into his mouth. “Why would ya want ta spend more time with him?”

“I hope you aren’t talking about me,” Suna said as he sunk into the seat beside you.

You looked up and gave him a smile, shaking your head. “Never, I actually like you,” you laughed.

You’d become close with Suna over the last three years. It was only natural that you did, since he was in your year and the twins’ best friend on the team. He was a welcome addition to your trio.

The corner of Suna’s mouth quirked up as he got out his lunch. “Then who are you talking about?”

“Who d’ya think?” Osamu quipped with his mouth full, prompting you to reach over and flick his forehead.

“For how much you like food, you’d think you would appreciate it more and not talk with your mouth full,” you scolded, crossing your arms and muttering a quiet, “trashy,” under your breath.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Then don’t act like it!”

“Jeez, and here I was thinking I’d get a break from the Miya twins’ famous bickering. I forget you’re just as bad as them, Y/N,” Suna groaned.

“Oh, shut it, Suna,” you grumbled, shoving a piece of broccoli in your mouth.

He chuckled and looked at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“’S ‘cause she wants ‘Tsumu to have lunch with us,” Osamu explained.

You huffed. “Is it so wrong of me to want to eat lunch with one of my best friends? This is like, two weeks in a row he’s ditched us in favor of those dumb girls,” you whined.

Suna hummed in understanding. “I think I heard one of them ask him out when I was walking here,” he said, but you didn’t even have the energy to act surprised.

“And he accepted, no?” you asked, though you were already certain you knew the answer.

“Mhm. I think that’s like the third date this week. I don’t know how he keeps up with everything.”

Suna was right. It was his third date that week. But the thing that made it even more frustrating was that you were supposed to study with the twins after school, and that meant he was bailing. Again. It was happening more and more recently.

“He doesn’t,” Osamu laughed, before going on to say exactly what you were thinking. “He never studies anymore. He’ll be lucky if he graduates.”

At first you hadn’t been concerned with him cancelling plans a couple times. Even with all the attention he got, he still hung out with you, still ate lunch with you, so it felt like you were still friends. But now you went more days not hanging out with him than you ever had. It was like he’d turned eighteen and thought that meant he could focus only on volleyball and girls, as if he didn’t have to graduate high school too.

And it fucking sucked. You were too many years too deep into your crush on him, there was no way you were going to say anything now. With the way he was treating you recently it felt like that would be the thing that would push the two of you apart for good.

All you wanted to do was keep whatever semblance of a friendship the two of you had intact, even if that meant suffering on the sidelines.

Unbeknownst to you, Suna and Osamu shared a knowing glance while you went back to pushing your food around.

“It’s whatever. I get it. I mean, why wouldn’t you want to bask in all that glory?” you sighed before sitting up straight and looking back and forth between your two friends. “I really don’t care.”

What a big fat lie.

Later that night, you were over at the Miya twins’ house studying for finals, just as planned. And as expected, only you and Osamu sat at the table.

Atsumu was out with that girl—that wasn’t a surprise at all, even though Osamu had reminded him of the study session after lunch—and he’d bailed on you for the third time that week. He told you to just go ahead with it anyway, that you didn’t have to reschedule for him. It made you so angry, especially when it clicked in your head that the only days he was going on dates were the days that you had plans with him.

Was he doing it on purpose?

You were staring at your textbook, but you hadn’t turned the page in at least ten minutes. You couldn’t focus, not when you knew Atsumu was on a date with a girl that wasn’t you. A girl he would pick over you. You shoved the heels of your hands against your eyes and groaned.

“I’m an idiot,” you muttered.

“Mhm,” Osamu hummed dismissively, scribbling something down in his notebook. That response was normal, especially when you were studying and weren’t understanding something, but today it earned him a glare. It took him a few moments to notice you were looking at him, and he recoiled as he met your gaze across the table. “What?”

“You weren’t supposed to agree, dumbass,” you sneered.

He raised an eyebrow. “I always agree with you when ya say that. You’ve never gotten mad,” he pointed out.

“Yeah but I’m obviously sad today, it’s different,” you whined as you dropped your head onto your textbook.

“You’ll do fine. You’ve never gotten a bad grade on an exam you’ve stressed over before,” he sighed, turning his attention back to his notes.

“It’s not about the exam, ‘Samu,” you grumbled into your textbook, the words muffled by the pages.

That piqued his interest. You were never one to get sad; at least, not like this. You didn’t really voice your sadness, even to him, and he was your best friend so that was definitely saying something. You always had a bubbly personality that people were drawn to, and yeah, maybe you were a little more quiet lately, but he figured it was just because of the upcoming finals and graduation. He set his pen down, stretching his arms up and then interlocking his fingers behind his head. Leaning back in his chair, he looked down at you, your face still hidden in your textbook. “What is it then?”

You were silent.

“…Nothing,” you finally mumbled.

“It’s ‘Tsumu, isn’t it?” he asked, tone even and blunt as always.

Your head snapped up, and you could feel your cheeks beginning to tingle with heat as you looked at him with wide eyes. “H-How did you know?”

He smirked and gave you a small shrug. “Well, you’ve obviously been upset he’s bailing on us. But it’s more than that, yeah?” When you just continued to stare at him in shock he sighed. “You’re my best friend. Ya really think I wouldn’t be able to notice the way ya look at him? You’re not subtle,” he teased, making your face flush hotter.

“S-So you’re saying he knows I like him?” Your head was spinning, and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. If he knew, and he was going out with other girls, what did that mean? Did he just pity you? Did he not think you were good enough? Did he—

Your thoughts got cut off as Osamu waved his hand, nose scrunched up as he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. He’s an actual idiot.”

“Oh,” you breathed, shoulders slumping as your gaze fell back to your textbook. Part of you was relieved that he didn’t know about your feelings for him, but another part of you was pained to know that you still had to hide this secret from him and watch in agony as he took countless other girls on dates.

“Ya should probably tell him,” Osamu said, looking at you in a way you could only equate to a disappointed father looking at his child.

“I think I’m good like this, he doesn’t need to know,” you said meekly, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks rising up to your ears.

Osamu scoffed, pushing his textbook away and leaning his forearms on the table. “Yer not good, Y/N. Yer hurting, and I can tell. And it’s been getting even worse lately. Just because ‘Tsumu can’t see the way ya feel about him doesn’t mean ya should just sit around and feel sorry for yerself. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

You blanched, looking up at him like he was crazy. “I could lose my best friend!” you squeaked, making him give you a fake pout.

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean,” you hissed, covering your face with your hands. “He doesn’t need to know,” you repeated.

“Who doesn’t need to know what?”

You froze at the sound of Atsumu’s voice and the front door closing. You waited, knowing he was removing his shoes and dropping his keys in the tray by the door before making his way to the dining room where you were sitting with his brother.

“Are we gossiping?” Atsumu smirked as he sat at the end of the table, putting his hands behind his head in the way Osamu had done just minutes before. However, this time, your heart fluttered. Your gaze fixated on the way his muscles flexed beneath the button up shirt he was wearing, the way his hair fell in front of his eyes, the way—

You were staring, but Osamu interjected before either of you could say anything.

“Where’s your date?”

You sent him a thankful glance, shrinking back in your chair and pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head. Atsumu was to your side, so if you positioned the hood just right then he wouldn’t be able to see the distraught look on your face.

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “I dropped her off at her place. Wasn’t into it. She wouldn’t stop talking during the movie and she kept clinging ta my arm everywhere we went, and it was just—” he shook his head, a look of disgust on his face, “—not good.”

You hummed quietly, wanting to acknowledge you were listening without paying much attention to the way Atsumu talked about his date. You hated him for it. The way he would go out with whatever girl flung herself at him, even just once, without even getting to know her first. You hated the way he gave every girl a chance except for you.

Sure, you had never tried to make it obvious to him that you liked him, but surely if he had any kind of interest in you then he would have given you a chance.

Right?

“How’s studying?” Atsumu changed the subject again, and you were relieved he hadn’t circled back to his earlier question.

“Fine,” Osamu mumbled, but you were quickly gathering up your things.

You shoved them in your bag and stood up. “I’m gonna go home.” It was an announcement, but your voice was small. You didn’t even look either of them in the eyes.

Atsumu looked up at you, and you could see a hint of sadness in his honey brown irises. “But I thought ya were staying over,” he protested with a pout.

You quickly looked away from him. You both knew that he could easily get you to do whatever he wanted with a sweet lilt to his voice and a flash of some puppy dog eyes—you weren’t going to let that happen.

You cleared your throat and tugged your bag onto your shoulder. “Yeah, well… I forgot extra clothes,” you lied, and you tried to hide the grimace at the fact that they could probably both easily see through it.

“Ah, that’s no problem. I can give ya some of mine,” Atsumu said with a smile, but you shook your head. Even if you were telling the truth, that would have been so much worse than sleeping in your own clothes.

“I said I’m going home, Atsumu,” you said sharply.

He blinked, recoiling slightly in shock. You never called him that. It was always ‘Tsumu, and sometimes TsumTsum when you wanted something from him, but never Atsumu. It was only Atsumu when you were actually angry with him, which was rare.

What had he done to make you angry?

He stood from the table and looked down at you with a frown. “At least let me walk ya home then.”

“No.” You tried to be forceful, but your voice came out weak. “I think you’ve walked enough girls home for the night. Please just leave me alone.” You pushed past him, shoulder knocking against his bicep as you tried to squeeze around him in the small space.

He grabbed your arm to stop you, but he couldn’t find the words to say when you looked up at him. There was a kind of pain he could sense behind your eyes, and it made him frown deeper. Why weren’t you talking to him? He’d never seen you like this; you’d always confided in him when something was bothering you.

You pulled your arm away when he didn’t say anything, not missing the pitiful look Osamu gave you as you left the house, mumbling a quiet, “I’ll see you later, guys,” your voice trembling.

You dug your headphones out of your bag from where they were buried under the clothes that you had, in fact, brought with you. You put them on and turned your music up, hoping the noise would distract you from the thoughts swirling around in your head. It helped, but it didn’t stop the tears from sliding down your cheeks subconsciously, nor did it do anything to block out the sound of your own sobs when everything hit you at once.

You were never going to be what he wanted.

You were never going to be enough for him.

He went out on countless dates with girls he knew he didn’t even like. Osamu always insisted it was just because he needed the ego boost, but he wouldn’t even spare you a second glance in the way he did them.

To you, all that meant was that you were worse than them.

Worse than the girls Atsumu didn’t even like from the start.

And even worse than the girls he did.

How in the world would you ever compete with that?

“What’s up with her?” Atsumu asked, hands on his hips as he watched the front door close.

“Maybe you’d know if ya started acting like her friend again,” Osamu quipped, gaze settling back on his textbook.

“What’s that supposed ta mean?” Atsumu snapped, glaring at his twin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Osamu scoffed, not taking his eyes off his notes. “Ya really are an idiot.”

“The hell are ya trying to say?” Atsumu growled, anger bubbling in his veins.

The gray-haired twin looked at his brother, eyebrow raised, unamused. As—almost—always, he was calm in the face of his brother’s anger. “This is the sixth time ya’ve cancelled on her in two weeks. Why wouldn’t she be upset?”

Atsumu sneered, crossing his arms. “Well what kind of friend is she if she can’t be happy for me going on dates? There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing!”

Osamu stood, the chair clattering and falling over behind him. It was scary sometimes, the way his face was so stoic while fire burned behind his eyes. “That’s such a load of shit, ‘Tsumu, and ya know it. What kind of friend are you to cancel on her for girls ya don’t give a fuck about?” he seethed.

“I wouldn’t go out with them if I didn’t give a fuck!”

“Right. So ya just don’t give a fuck about Y/N.”

Atsumu froze. Was that really what you thought? He didn’t think there had been any issue. You’d never voiced any concern to him, so how was he supposed to know you were upset with him?

How was he supposed to know when you were growing quieter and more distant? How was he supposed to know when you were smiling less around him? How was he supposed to know when he was seemingly blind to the way you felt about him, his gaze landing on what felt like every girl other than you?

But he did know.

He knew all too well, and all he wanted to do was run away from it.

I can open a tag list for this if people are interested! Just send me an ask :)

@kixoomi

#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader angst #haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #my writing

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andavs · 4 years

Text

So I watched Bumblebee...

...

The jeep was bright blue and the most obnoxious vehicle Derek had ever seen, but it was perfect. It was a 1980 CJ5 and once the list of defects was read aloud, he was the only bidder so he got it for next to nothing. Not that the price could’ve kept him from buying it, because Laura had a thing for jeeps.

Specifically older jeeps, none of that Cherokee or Sahara or SUV kind of models—she liked Jeeps. And she also liked to rant about shoddy craftsmanship of modern models and how they weren’t really jeeps… Derek usually tuned her out by the time she got to the wave hierarchy.

For someone who didn’t actually own a jeep and never actually had, she really liked jeeps.

And she would really like this one.

There was the expected wear of a vehicle over thirty years old and some body damage from an accident; the leather seat was ripped, and it looked like there was a scorch mark near the driver’s side door, a sizable dent in the passenger side. Aside from that, it seemed as though the jeep was relatively well taken care of, until it ended up in a county abandoned vehicle auction.

It would definitely take some work, and he'd probably have to replace everything under the hood, but it was worth it to see Laura happy and excited.

It had been a long time since she was happy and excited.

Now he just had to get it home to get it fixed up, without it breaking down on the side of the road. And despite the fact that he was going to have to fix every part of it in some way, that seemed like the much greater challenge at the moment.

The jeep lurched violently as he shifted, and he struggled briefly to get it into gear. That was where he could really feel the age of the car; he never had any difficulty shifting in his Camaro.

"Clutch, dude."

He slammed on the brakes and the jeep swerved violently to the side of the empty highway. Derek twisted around in his seat to threaten whoever the hell stowed away in the back seat, eyes glowing and furious—

But the back seat was empty.

There were no other heartbeats, no muffled breathing, and the trunk was far too small for anyone to fit into, even if they did somehow manage to conceal the sounds of a living, breathing person.

"First clutch, then gas—seriously have you never driven stick?"

That time the voice came from the other direction, and he turned back towards the front.

The radio was off, his phone was in his pocket...

“Oh, and there’s a weird kind of delay? So wait a second before the gas or it stalls, and you gotta put some muscle into it.”

Derek did as the disembodied voice instructed and the car jerkily started forward again.

So the jeep was haunted. Cool.

The ghost’s name was Stiles, and he was the most obnoxious person, living or dead, that Derek had ever met. He never thought he could have such disdain for a disembodied voice, but the very sound of it was starting to fill him with such a deep-seated rage and irritation that there were new claw holes in the side of the leather seat.

Okay, not entirely true. He’d grown to hate a lot of radio personalities over the years, but at least there were music breaks and they were limited to the hours of their show. They babbled for an hour and then they stopped.

Stiles had no such limitations. If the car was on, he was talking.

And talking.

“I was stuck in an impound lot for who knows how long! Of course I want to talk!”

Derek rolled his eyes, thankful that Stiles didn’t seem to be able to see anything, because he would probably have something to say about that too.

“Well I don’t,” Derek said flatly, hoping his tone conveyed just how much he didn’t want to talk, “so shut up.”

His tone did nothing.

“Was that supposed to be threatening?” He wasn’t laughing, but Stiles sounded entirely too amused, which just pissed Derek off even more. “What are you going to do, hit me?” He taunted. “Punch the dashboard? Run into a tree? I’m dead, dude, you can’t hurt a ghost!”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m sure I could find a way.”

“Please do, I’d love to watch you fail.”

Derek turned onto his street. He was almost home. In just a few short seconds, he could turn the car off.

“You can’t even see.”

“But I have a very vivid imagination.”

He turned into his driveway.

“That sounds like a brooding silence,” Stiles continued. “Deep frown, furrowed brow, are you clenching your jaw? I think I can hear teeth grinding.”

As if he could hear anything over the deafening, rattling roar of the shitty jeep.

Derek said nothing as he unclenched his jaw.

“Do you have prominent cheekbones? I’m picturing cheekbones, maybe some artfully tousled—”

“Oh look, we’re home,” Derek interrupted, deadpan, and parked the jeep in his garage.

“Oh no, don’t you dare turn me off! Derek! Der—”

He turned the key and breathed a sigh of relief at the blissful sound of silence.

It was a full week and a half before he turned the jeep on again.

A week and a half of standing in the door of the garage, staring at it for three minutes, and then closing the door and walking away.

A week and a half of opening the driver’s side door, hesitating, and slamming it shut again (because the lock didn’t catch properly unless he slammed it).

A week and a half of steadily mounting guilt eating away at his stomach until he couldn’t take it any longer and stormed out to the garage at four in the morning to turn the damn car on, only to be greeted by an irate Stiles calling him a dick and a number of other colorful names. Followed by the deafening squeal of audio feedback in retaliation.

They finally reached a tentative truce; Derek would start the jeep every day, and Stiles would learn to shut the hell up when Derek needed a break.

Starting the jeep daily turned into taking it out for a drive daily, usually to the auto parts store so he could get some advice from the employees about what he needed to buy for it.

“Everything,” was the answer he got, so he sighed and handed over his credit card, silently wondering if this stupid jeep was even worth it.

He wasn’t giving it to Laura with a ghost, so why even bother fixing it up? He asked himself that a lot, late at night while he stared up at the ceiling in bed. He didn’t need a jeep, especially one with so little room for anything more than two people. His Camaro had a larger backseat, a larger trunk, more power—it was better than the old blue jeep in pretty much every way except getting up a steep driveway without scraping the front bumper.

Except his Camaro didn’t contain the last remaining consciousness of a person.

His Camaro wasn’t the one thing keeping that person from fading from existence.

It wasn’t the one thing he enjoyed talking to.

Well, not talking to—bickering with, more like. Arguing. Insulting. Their conversations were usually just shy of mutual verbal abuse, and for some reason, Derek kind of enjoyed it. He was spending thousands of dollars and hours of labor to continue interacting with a single person, in a manner that could barely be considered more eloquent than a YouTube comments section.

Maybe it was because no matter how nasty he got, Stiles gave it right back. Stiles didn’t walk away and cut off contact. He didn’t let Derek’s shitty moods linger in his mind and poison their next conversation. He didn’t drag it up to use it against him. He called him a dick, a tool, a monumental douchebag, and moved on to his next thought.

Except it wasn’t just bickering and insults. Not anymore.

Because Stiles got it. He understood. He understood when Derek went quiet for days at a time and drove through the neighborhood for hours without saying a word. He understood when Derek started the car and just sat there in the driver’s seat in his garage, staring at the unfinished drywall he’d put up and never painted. He never even taped the seams.

“I get it, dude,” Stiles said during one of those days. “So I’m just going to keep talking and you can jump in whenever you’re ready.”

And oddly enough, it helped. When Stiles rambled on from one topic to the next, spewing facts and anecdotes he’d read at some point, it dragged Derek out of his spiraling thoughts and guilt and grief and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t his own self-loathing. His pity parties, as Stiles had dismissively named them, but even that helped in some twisted way.

“I’m not going to be the goody bag at your pity party,” he’d said like he was quoting something, and then given Derek entirely too much information about the bathroom situation in Versailles.

“You’re going to have to replace the transmission as soon as possible if you’re going to keep driving this,” Dave said, shaking his head at the mess under the hood of the jeep.

Derek nodded, resigned, and handed over his credit card.

For all that Stiles talked, he never talked about himself. Derek wasn’t really sure how the whole ghost thing worked, but if Stiles could remember the entire history of the imperial system of measurement, it seemed like he should remember his own life. And yet, he never mentioned it. The entire history of the Genovese crime family, yes, Derek had heard it twice, but nothing personal about Stiles.

The few times Derek had asked, he got vague answers. The kind of answers that made it sound like he was hiding something big. Talking around specifics, not referencing any names, occupations, locations—anything that could be used to identify him.

Normally, this would be a giant red flag and send Derek running into the night, but Stiles was a ghost. He was dead. He couldn’t even change the radio station, let alone hurt someone, so Derek let it slide. Plus, he was fun. And Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that word to describe anything in his life.

“You’re going to have to pound this out,” Dave said, gesturing to the pretty significant dent on the passenger side of the jeep. “What happened? Did you hit a tree or something?”

Derek shrugged, told him it was there when he bought it, and accepted his recommendations for a few body shops in the area. But the thought lingered.

It had crossed his mind before, plenty of times, but never more than a passing thought. It felt strangely invasive, asking a ghost how they died. Was there etiquette for that? How did one approach that subject this far into a relationship?

“Did you die in this car?” Derek asked bluntly one afternoon, ripping off the bandaid with all of the tact and finesse he usually showed in social situations.

Luckily Stiles was used to that by now and didn’t bat a proverbial eye.

“Probably? Don’t remember.”

Derek frowned at the freeway in front of him, letting the roar of the jeep’s new engine fill the silence. “You don’t remember your death?” That seemed like the kind of thing that would leave an impression.

“Weird, right? Kind of seems like a major milestone in someone’s life.”

To say the least.

“Dude, you have to look me up!” Stiles said excitedly, like the idea just came to him. “Stiles Stilinski, with an I.”

Derek didn’t exactly jump for his phone, and not just because he was driving.

“Where’s the I?”

“Everywhere, it’s like the only vowel in my name. Just do it. I need to know if my death was as embarrassingly pathetic as the rest of my life.”

Well that was depressing. And a very effective guilt trip.

When he got home and parked the jeep in his garage, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and guessed how to spell Stiles’ name. He guessed wrong, and even when he corrected it, he didn’t find anything. Just an old voter record website and some totally locked down social media profiles that didn’t even have a picture of his face.

“Wow, so I made zero impact even in death.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably and kept himself from pointing out darkly that even if Stiles hadn’t, his jeep had made a big one. Into something very hard.

“Okay hang on,” he bounced back quickly, “if my jeep was in an accident, there would be an accident report! That should say what happened!”

This was turning into a much bigger project than Derek expected.

“How am I supposed to find that? You don’t know where it happened, and even if you did, I don’t think the cops give out accident reports to anyone who asks.”

Stiles sighed dramatically. “Just get a laptop.”

Derek wasn’t sure which law he’d broken by using a sheriff’s login to access a national law enforcement database, but he was pretty sure he could go to jail for it.

“It’s fine, I do it all the time,” Stiles had assured him, but he had a feeling a sheriff was much more likely to overlook his own son committing fraud with his account than a complete stranger. Even if his son was directing all of it. As a disembodied voice through his car.

Derek glared at the radio and adjusted the computer on his lap. It was a bit of a tight fit with the steering wheel in the way. And also because it was a jeep from the eighties and was roughly the size of an oven.

Stiles stepped him through the search process. When the license plate and VIN number came up with nothing (and who knew their VIN off the top of their head, even in death?), he got more creative until finally, there was one, single result.

“It says here there was a car accident, a hit and run,” Derek summarized as he scanned through the report. “The jeep was found on the side of the road, no plates, no VIN, no witnesses. The unidentified driver was unconscious and taken to the hospital.”

“Unconscious,” Stiles repeated, immediately latching onto the same point Derek did. “So I’m not dead!”

“Would it say if you died later at the hospital?”

“Probably depends on how much later it was. When did the accident happen?”

Derek scrolled up to the date. “About a year ago. You don’t remember any of this?”

“Conveniently, it’s a total blank. Where did it happen?” Derek read off the county name, just two over from where he lived, and not the one he’d bought the jeep in. “Great! Just a few hours from Beacon Hills!”

Derek froze, heart starting to pound. It couldn't be...

“California?” It was a stupid question; the state was huge, everything a few hours away from them was still in California.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“No,” he lied, and if Stiles heard the lie, he didn’t push it.

There was no way this was a coincidence, Derek thought frantically. Beacon Hills wasn’t that big and since he left, he’d never met anyone who knew where it was, let alone someone who came from there.

"You have to find me, Derek, I need to know!" Stiles was practically yelling to get his attention, and when Derek still didn’t respond, he sighed dramatically. "I know it's a pain in the ass, and I'd do it myself, but I’m literally a disembodied voice in a jeep.”

Making him feel bad about the fact that he had a body. Annoyingly effective strategy.

“And how exactly am I supposed to find you?” Derek asked, giving in but telling himself he was just playing along. Warning alarms were going off at the back of his mind, every part of him screaming not to go back to the place where he’d lost everything. But he couldn’t bring himself to outright refuse this one thing for Stiles. The only thing he’d outright asked him to do since buying the jeep.

“You know where the crash happened, right? Look for the closest hospital and start there.”

Derek glared at the radio, not appreciating his condescending tone in the least. Stiles was such a dick sometimes.

Most of the time.

The moments he wasn’t a dick were the real anomalies.

“And say I find you,” Derek returned in his own snotty tone, “how exactly am I supposed to identify you? I don’t know what you look like!”

Stiles scoffed like that was somehow Derek’s fault. “Caucasian male, twenty-five, brown hair, brown eyes, five ten, roughly a hundred and fifty-seven pounds, tattoo sleeves on both arms.”

Derek blinked at how quickly he’d rattled that off, but most importantly,

“Tattoos?”

“What, I don’t sound like I have tattoos?”

“You’re trapped in my car, you don’t sound like you have a body at all.”

“Watch it, buddy. We don’t know that I’m dead, so this isn’t your car yet.”

Derek had a receipt from the auction and a very large credit card balance that said otherwise.

As it turned out, the county of the car accident wasn’t exactly a metropolitan area, so there weren’t very many hospitals to search. In fact, there was exactly one within an hour of the crash site.

“You have to go! Even if I died, they’ll at least have the record,” Stiles said like that was an upside. Like Derek wasn’t about to stroll into a hospital and start asking questions about unidentified dead people like some kind of creep.

“And then I get to be the one to call your family and tell them,” Derek muttered quietly under his breath, and if Stiles heard him, he didn’t respond.

He pulled into a parking spot at the back of the lot, even though there were plenty of open spots closer to the hospital, and sat there for a while, psyching himself up for what was about to happen. He was about to walk into a hospital and ask about the probably protected private information of the man whose ghost was haunting the jeep he bought in a county auction.

Totally normal.

“So are you going in, or…?” Stiles asked after a long few minutes of silence.

"Not if you keep bothering me," Derek snapped, but took off his seatbelt anyway. There was no way he wasn’t going in.

“Be fast!” Stiles yelled at the last second before he turned off the car.

He dragged his feet a bit to the front desk in the lobby, rehearsing how exactly he was going to phrase this, but the woman behind the computer saw him coming and smiled welcomingly and he couldn't turn back after that.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a cheerful smile.

Derek plastered on his best charming smile in return. His approximation of a functioning human being with basic social skills.

“Yeah, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was in a car accident last June, in a blue jeep.” He rambled on about a disappearance, devastated family, and how they’d been scouring nearby hospitals for any unidentified patients.

“Oh, of course,” she said sympathetically. “Can you describe him?”

He rattled off the description Stiles gave him as she typed them into the computer, and waited (somewhat) patiently while the system searched. His claws were leaving impatient pinpricks in the wooden desk, but they would probably wouldn’t be too noticeable.

“And you said this was last June?” she asked, clicking around a few times. “We had one John Doe admitted after a car accident that month, a white male in his twenties, with tattoos.”

Derek’s heart started pounding. That had to be Stiles.

“What happened to him?”

He was having a hard time interpreting her professionally neutral yet still pitying expression. “Oh, sweetie. He’s still here.”

John Doe 24, was what the name tag outside the door said, and through the blinds in the window, Derek could see the room was filled with machines, blocking his view of the man lying inside. There was a steady beeping, the mechanical whirs and hisses of a ventilator, something dripping from an IV bag.

The social worker who led him there opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter.

The first impression Derek had was that underneath the smell of hospital and sterile medical equipment, he could smell the jeep. Or the person who had driven the jeep for so many years that the scent of him was permanently embedded in the interior.

His second impression was, once the face under all of the wires and tubes and tape registered…

He didn’t know what he expected Stiles to look like. His voice sounded young, a little high and scratchy, he knew a lot about a lot of things—a nerd, was what Derek would say if pressed. Someone who spent way too much time reading Wikipedia and had a “fun fact of the day” calendar for every year since he learned how to read.

Stiles did not look like a nerd.

He was skinny, his cheekbones prominent, but he’d been in a coma for a year. A little weight loss was probably normal, as was the messy, amateur haircut. Brown hair, moles, an upturned nose, but the real identifying trait was the tattoo sleeves. Runes and symbols, starting at his wrists and continuing up under the sleeves of his hospital gown. Most of the symbols Derek had never seen before, but the ones he did recognize…

The triskele.

On its own, it could be nothing. A complete coincidence. But paired with everything else around it...

Stiles knew about werewolves.

“Is this your friend?” the social worker asked, looking hopeful.

Derek swallowed. “That’s Stiles.”

Derek slammed the jeep’s door behind him and started the engine.

“Well?” Stiles immediately asked. “What happened?”

“You know about werewolves,” Derek found himself saying, even though he intended to work that in a little later. After the whole I found your comatose body in the ICU reveal.

There was a beat of silence before a slightly high-pitched and unconvincing, “What?”

“Your tattoos. You know about werewolves?”

“Well that explains why you took this whole haunted car thing so well.” He didn’t elaborate. “But you saw my tattoos? You found me?”

“Yes, I found you,” Derek snapped. “You’re in a coma and you have symbols from werewolf lore tattooed on your body, including the symbol of my dead pack. Why.” Stiles wasn’t a wolf, he could feel that much from seeing him in person. But the only other group that studied werewolf lore so closely were hunters, and if Stiles turned out to be a hunter…

“I’m in a pack, okay?” He paused, and if he had lungs, he would probably be taking a steadying breath. “I’m an emissary, and now you need to call them and tell them where I am, so they can get me out of this coma!”

“What makes you think they can?” Derek snapped, still on edge and maybe a little scared of losing the most intimate connection he’d made with anyone in years. Which was really just sad.

“My consciousness is trapped inside my jeep, Derek, this clearly isn’t your average coma!”

Valid point, Derek admitted with a bitter eyeroll. He could also admit to himself, bitterly, that he couldn’t keep Stiles in a coma forever so he could keep talking to his car. It was selfish and cruel and probably sadistic on some level. The fact that he was completely inept at connecting to real, live humans wasn’t Stiles’ cross to bear and it shouldn’t keep him from potentially waking up and living his life.

“Fine,” Derek said after a long, loaded pause. “Who should I call?”

“My dad, sheriff of Beacon Hills. He’ll handle the rest.”

The McCall pack rolled into town like an army and hadn't stopped working since.

Now that they'd found him, there was always someone at Stiles' bedside at the hospital, while everyone else had set up camp in Derek's garage to work through the problem. They'd brought a mountain of books, computers, all types of occult paraphernalia—anything they could possibly need to fix this.

Meanwhile, Derek was going through an absurd amount of money buying gas for the damn jeep, because now that they had Stiles back, in any kind of form, the pack didn't want to turn off the car and lose him again.

Derek tried to explain that he’d turned the car off and on countless times and Stiles was still there, nagging him constantly, but they didn’t want to risk it. He wanted his garage to stop stinking of exhaust, but there was no way he could deny a father the chance to talk to the son he believed to be dead for over a year.

(Though he definitely wished there was a way he could deny Stiles’ desire to sing ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, screaming it into the garage in the middle of the night over the roar of the jeep’s engine.)

Beyond setting up their base of operations in his living room and taking over most of his home, the McCall pack was also able to fill in a lot of gaps and answer a lot of questions. Namely, what the hell happened to Stiles.

A rogue faction of the Argent family had been closing in on the McCall pack at the time he went missing, and given the way both he and his car had been scrubbed of his identity, it wasn't much of a leap to suspect the hunters were responsible.

"But why not just kill you?" Lydia mused aloud. She was settled in the passenger seat of the jeep with four open books stacked in her lap. "Why go to so much trouble to hide your identity when they could've just killed you and dumped the body? We're right by the mountains, there's plenty of places to do it."

"Why does it sound like you've considered doing this before?" Stiles asked, sounding insulted and a little wary.

"Because you really piss me off sometimes," she said dismissively, and moved right along. "There's no way what they did is neater, especially with the risk of you waking up at the hospital."

"It’s because even hunters wouldn't kill an emissary," Derek cut in from the doorway, stepping forward and putting himself out of his misery. It was actually painful listening to young and inexperienced packs try to navigate the intricacies of the culture. "Emissaries are considered neutral and vital to maintaining the balance, and killing one is like declaring all out war, even as a hunter."

"Ha! See? I'm vital!"

Derek ignored Stiles’ interruption. "Leaving him in a hospital to die from his wounds, completely anonymous, is probably the cleanest way they could’ve handled it. If they killed him outright and his body was identified, it would only be a matter of time before his pack traced it back to them.”

Lydia looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment, processing. Then her eyes hardened.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” She closed the book at the top of her stack with a threatening finality Derek had never mastered. “We’re going to war.”

Considering that up until recently, Stiles had become something of an emotional crutch and coping mechanism for Derek, it was ironic that he suddenly found himself filling that roll for all of Stiles’ pack.

Scott, the impossibly young alpha sought him out on the back porch almost every evening, and spent an hour picking his brain on everything from werewolf culture to the guilt he felt for not finding Stiles himself sooner.

“I never felt him die, but after so many months…” Lydia confessed quietly one morning in the kitchen, her hands clasped tightly around a mug of coffee that had turned lukewarm an hour ago. Her eyes were haunted with a grief Derek knew all too well. “It was easier. To accept that I was wrong. It was easier to give up.”

He ran into Stiles’ father just outside the garage door at four in the morning, leaning against the wall with red-rimmed eyes.

“I had alerts for his name, the plates…” he started, and Derek could remember that regret. The constant, unrelenting scream at the back of his mind that he should’ve known. That he should’ve done more. That he should’ve been able to stop her.

“The plates were removed,” Derek explained, hoping to save the man from some tiny bit of what he’d gone through. “The VIN, all of the insurance information, his wallet—anything that could identify him or the car.”

"But he was a—” He swallowed, cutting himself off before his voice got loud enough for Stiles to hear through the garage door. “If he didn't have any ID, it's standard procedure to do a search for missing persons, I should've gotten an alert, I should've found him!"

"Hunters have people everywhere. It's possible the police kept it under the radar for them."

The Sheriff rubbed a hand over his mouth, practically vibrating with emotion.

"My son has been sitting here for a year, as a John Doe. Just three hours away."

Derek had nothing to say to that.

"Is he hot? He sounds hot."

Derek froze outside the garage door at Stiles’ question. He would deny to anyone who asked and himself that he in any way cared about the answer.

"He's very hot," Lydia said with an uncomfortably approving tone. "Muscles, stubble, a great ass."

Derek wanted to die.

In the end, it was a simple fix.

In his last moments of consciousness, when the hunters were approaching the crashed jeep to drag Stiles off, he’d run. Not physically, his body had been too broken for that, but mentally. His consciousness fled, and aided by his emissary magic, it jumped to the closest thing capable of housing it.

“At least there wasn’t like, a skunk walking by,” Stiles joked, and Derek was the only one who grinned at the thought.

“Both his body and consciousness need to be in the same place,” Lydia explained, and she made it sound like that alone would allow Stiles to return to his body. A simple fix.

So Derek disconnected the radio from the dashboard, and the pack took it to the hospital, and Derek was left sitting there in a silent car, staring at the loose wires dangling from the dash and suddenly feeling more alone than he had in years.

The pack hadn’t asked if he wanted to go and he wasn’t about to impose on such a monumental and emotional moment, but he wanted to. He wanted to be there when Stiles opened his eyes. He wanted to see how he looked when he was happy or annoyed, how he looked when he called Derek a dick, if his eyes went distant in those rare moments he went quiet. He wanted to see the recognition on his face.

But would he recognize him?

Would he remember him at all?

Did a ghostly consciousness retain memories of what happened outside of its body, stuck in a car radio?

He started the car once more, a new habit when he wanted to just stop thinking and live in the now, but aside from the rumble of the brand new, powerful engine, it was quiet.

Stiles was gone.

“He wants to see you,” Lydia said with some judgment two days later. This time her coffee was still warm and the bags under her eyes and lightened. A book on werewolf traditions was open in front of her, to the chapter on formal declarations of war, so she was clearly intending to make good on her promise of justice for Stiles.

Derek couldn’t say how Scott and the Sheriff were handling things because he was pretty sure they’d been sleeping at the hospital since Stiles opened his eyes. He hadn’t seen them once.

Derek concentrated on pouring himself the perfect amount of coffee and retreated to the garage. The new radio arrived that morning.

He was being an idiot, Derek told himself, sitting there in the jeep in the hospital parking lot. The new radio was still in its box in the passenger seat, because though he’d gone out to the garage to install it, he ended up at the hospital.

Stiles wanted to see him, so he clearly remembered him. He wasn’t going to walk into the room and meet the eyes of a stranger.

But he didn’t think he could handle seeing the recognition and then being looked over for something better. Stiles had his friends and family, the people he loved and who loved him, the most important people in his life right there at his side. Derek had a strained and distant relationship with his sister across the country and an unhealthy attachment to the disembodied voice of a ghost that used to live in his jeep.

Stiles’ jeep.

He would probably be wanting his car back now that he wasn’t dead, and Derek wouldn’t deny him that. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, not after everything Stiles had done for him. Put up with for him. He had a stupid, deeply ingrained impulse to repay debts out of self-defense, and restoring the jeep Stiles loved so much could only account for a fraction of what Derek owed him.

“That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Stiles said, and Derek’s eyes flicked over to the loose wires hanging from the dashboard.

Great, now he was hearing his voice in his mind. Would he ever escape Stiles’ commentary on every thought he had?

“No,” Stiles answered, matter of factly. “So are you going in, or…?”

Derek glared out through the windshield at the Subaru parked in across from him, telling himself he wasn’t going to let the phantom of Stiles’ judgment dictate his life. He lasted all of twenty seconds before he turned off the car and got out.

The John Doe name tag had been replaced with one that said Stiles Stilinski, was the first thing Derek noticed approaching Stiles’ new room. There was also a slightly creepy illustration of a rabbit with a basket of Easter eggs taped up next to it, even though they were nowhere near Easter.

Derek really took his time staring at it, shamefully stalling but refusing to give in to the soulless, judgmental eyes of the smiling rabbit. He wasn’t being a coward, he just wasn’t going to lose to that damn rabbit.

“Creepy, right?” Scott said as he came up beside him, and Derek nodded. “His dad and I are about to go grab some lunch, but you can go in.”

Derek nodded again, and as the Sheriff passed him, he squeezed his arm reassuringly. Or sympathetically. Derek didn’t know him well enough to know how to interpret that.

A full two minutes after they left, Derek pushed open the door and walked into Stiles’ room.

Stiles didn’t notice him at first; he was frowning down at the remote to the TV, and stabbing at the buttons, trying to change the channel from a sappy Lifetime movie. It looked like he hadn’t quite found his coordination yet, but given that he’d been in a coma for a year, Derek was amazed he was moving at all. Magic probably had something to do with that.

He still looked small in his hospital bed, but his shoulders were broad and suggested he wouldn’t look very small at all once he regained his strength and muscles. There were dark circles under his eyes and a scar in his hairline that was hard to ignore, but he was sitting up and the breathing tube was gone and when he finally changed the channel and sneered down at the remote in victory, his brow crinkled.

Derek’s life would’ve been a lot easier if he’d been ugly.

Stiles looked up to the TV to see what channel he’d landed on, his tongue poking out through his lips in concentration, and froze when he noticed Derek standing in the doorway. Silently, without announcing his presence, like some kind of stalker.

They stared at each other for probably a solid minute, Stiles totally confused and Derek suddenly at a complete loss for anything to say after a month of saying whatever the hell he wanted to Stiles through the radio. Then it visibly clicked on Stiles’ face and he smiled crookedly and reached out, and Derek had no choice but to step forward and take his slightly shaky hand.

A month of talking and driving, arguing, bickering, fighting, and sitting in stubborn, angry silence, and now finally, they were touching.

“Hey, Derek.”

His voice was quiet and scratchy, still regaining its strength after a year of silence, but that was definitely Stiles’ voice.

Stiles was back.

#who knew a transformers movie would be so inspiring?#also that movie was way better than it had any business being #sterek #ficlet

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Dance of the Spheres Chapter 4: Venusian Vogue

Chapters: 4/?

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, forced marriage

Characters: Loki(Marvel),

Additional Tags: Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:

Images of broken light Which dance before me like a million eyes They call me on and on across the universe. Across the Universe-The Beatles

“I am Loki.”

“I asked for a bride.”

The declarations smashed into you like fists and took your breath with them.

There was a ring on your finger. Silvery, plain, simple. Why hadn't you noticed it before?

This was clearly Loki. Sunken eyes, and onyx hair, and refined bones. Exactly like the pictures. Why hadn't you noticed?

Too many things all at once. Too much. A fearful whine escaped your teeth, as you tugged on the ring. It didn't budge.

“You're supposed to be dead.” You whispered.

His face fell the instant you spoke.

“You know. I sometimes think that myself. Yet somehow I remain. Take it as a reassurance: you will not lose me to battle, or accident. I will never leave you. I suppose that is something that new brides must worry about, especially human ones. You may put that fear to rest.”

“That's not what I'm-” You clamped your mouth shut. You were in a bad position, worse than you'd ever been, maybe. You were completely alone here; you could contact no one for help. You weren't even sure where exactly 'here' was-no one knew where Asgard was located.

You were trapped in a room with a madman. A prince among his own people, who had proven himself capable of the mass murder of humans like you. Yet claiming you were his bride.

No one would come to your aid.

Did anyone even know you were missing?

You glanced at the ring once more. Its twin rested proudly on his own left hand. What choice did you have?

You had to play along. At least until you found some way out of this. Stay on the madman's good side, as much as that was possible.

“Why me?” You asked, fighting down your panic. Just gather information for now. “I'm literally nobody.”

“I don't understand either.” He sat down on the bed, just a little closer to you than arms length. “This was supposed to be a chance at reconciliation. I willingly gave myself up in a symbolic act of unity. Sacrificed my own freedom.”

You side-eyed him hard. Gave up his freedom? In what capacity? He wasn't the one kidnapped and married without any knowledge or choice!

“This isn't an uncommon arrangement.” He continued. “Your species has done this since time immemorial. From kings all the way down to commoners, uniting families, uniting fortunes, uniting entire lands. Surely your...leader...understood what was to be gained. Yes, I did a terrible thing to your people, but this should have forged a new alliance. A promise that not only would I not do such a thing again, but that my formidable prowess would be for your people, rather than against them. Was this not enough? This should have opened the way for trade, for treaties...And you! Why do such a thing to you? One of his own people?”

“Oh, I'm not his.” You said. “I voted against him. I march in protests against his shitty policies. I oppose him in any way I can. I'd say 'maybe that's why', but it really can't be. I'm nowhere near important or influential enough for the government to pay any attention to me. They're too busy trying to kill me through austerity. Or through the cops.”

Loki's face darkened. “I should find that officer and flay him. Make you a bodice of his skin.”

He'd been reaching for your shoulder, but you flinched away.

“Okay see? That right there? That's why people might not want to ally with you.” You pointed out.

“He shouldn't have hurt you.”

“That's true. That doesn't mean you can use my pain as an excuse to rampage on Earth!”

“I shan't!” He protested. “Never again, I promise you that.”

But how good was the promise of government? Politician or hereditary ruler, it was all the same. How good was the word of a murderer? How many promises had he already broken?

“How do you feel?” He asked. “You seem...lively. Whatever you were drugged with, is it having a lasting effect?”

“I'm a little disoriented, but I'm awake.” You said. “The food and water helped.”

“Yes. About that. Ah. Would you like to see your rooms? I've been anticipating your arrival-well, someone's arrival-for some months now, and I've had chambers created that befit your new station.”

The big unknown outside. Beyond this room was nothing but uncertainty. But you would be the first human being to see this new Asgard. You told yourself it was a perk.

“Um...” You mumbled. “My clothes...” You weren't going out there in a flimsy hospital gown, that was for sure.

“Being cleaned and mended.” Loki informed you. “I have a simple gown that I believe should fit you. Here.” Wit a sweeping gesture, he produced a voluminous, forest green garment out of seemingly nowhere.

You scooted away. “How did you do that?” You demanded.

“Magic, of course.” He said. “You...don't know about the magic...?”

You shook your head and took the robe from him. It felt real enough, smooth and soft, with fur trim and pin tucks. This was simple?

“What do you know about me, my dear?” He asked.

“Not much. Just what...turn around!” Sheepishly, he turned his back so you could change. “Just what was on the news. And the approximately three million conspiracy websites that popped up afterwards. You might be shocked by how many people think you were an inside job.”

“A what?”

“That's not even counting all the cults. You and Thor really got the radicalization machine cranking them out. White supremacists, nationalists, doomsday cults...thanks a lot. Not as if we didn't have enough problems cleaning up the mess you left behind.”

“That...was not my intention. Were you...?”

“I was not part of any cults. I was also not part of the celebration of your death, either.”

The news broadcast had interrupted every television, lit up every phone. A tired and battle-worn Thor, looking not one inch the hero the world knew him to be, as he towered over the reporter. He gave only a short statement: His brother Loki was dead, perished in honorable battle, in an effort to protect the galaxy from an ancient enemy.

People had trusted him. They'd seen the destruction that enemy had caused, in their quest to destroy everything. The odd teleportation anomalies in England that had dominated youtube for a long time. The leaves in your bathroom, the foreign plants in the park. Exotic, even alien creatures being spotted.

People threw parties at the news of Loki's demise. You'd gone out, gotten yourself exactly one drink, and then stayed home for the weekend. It didn't seem right, not after seeing Thor so hollowed out. You didn't really get on with celebrating the death of your enemies anyway, only the success of your causes.

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“But yeah, all I really know is that you attacked us out of the blue, and brought an army with you. You caused billions in damages and cost hundreds of lives. Thousands more lost everything. The economic blow is still with us, and led to some of the problems I've been marching against. And then you died. Except not, obviously. Was Thor lying to us?”

“No. He truly believed me dead. I did too, until I woke up. So you know nothing of me. I feared that might be the case. I am no warlord, not truly. I am the foremost sorcerer of Asgard. My magic has many applications, one of which is that I am rarely found without what I need.”

“So magic is real?” Why not? Aliens were real. Gods were apparently real.

“Yes, very. When times were...better, I used to tutor younger students. I might go back to doing that, once we are more established. Once we are safe.”

Safe? From what? Was whatever it was that had destroyed Asgard still out there? Thor had said otherwise, before the radio silence, but he had also thought that Loki was dead, and he was wrong about that, so...

“May I look now, dear?”

“Oh...yeah. I'm dressed.” The gown did fit, though mostly because it was a shapeless, oversized thing that was closed around you with ties. Still, it was luxurious, and made you feel like you were actually pretty-as long as no one looked at you too closely. Was this what a princess wore? You shouldn't allow yourself to get too used to it. As soon as you found a way out, you were out.

“Delightful. Even such a simple gown enhances your beauty. Will you come with me, dear? Let me show you our grand achievements.”

You didn't really want to be exposed to the people of Asgard, but this room was no safer than anywhere else right now. Loki hovered, and you stood, and managed a few wobbly steps before you overbalanced. He caught you instantly.

“Don't worry.” He murmured. “I'm here.”

As if that wasn't the problem in the first place.

“So, while you were carrying me off...I mean, when you, uh, received me, did you notice a cane lying around?” You asked. “I had one. Did the guys who brought me give it to you?”

“I'm afraid not.” He said apologetically. “They seemed strangely eager to quit the area.”

“Yeah, well. They had just committed a felony.” You griped. “They probably had orders to disappear. And they probably didn't want to hang around and witness what a warlord was gonna do to me.”

He winced. “I promise you, that's not what I really am.”

“Sorry.”

He held out his arm for you. “I don't have your cane, but I can support you. We will have another cane made for you. There should have been an Artificer and an apprentice Healer in here at some point, to measure you for a new prosthetic.”

“Uh, there were. I, uh, kinda told them to piss off.”

“Ah. I suppose I cannot blame you, now that I know of your situation. But they are here at your service, as is all of Asgard.”

He helped you limp along, somehow maintaining his dignified stride, even as you wobbled along like a penguin. The hallways were as bland and labyrinthine as a human hospital, if somewhat more softly lit. Again the light source was obscured behind thin panes of cloudy crystal, which diffused the light, giving everything a comforting, if slightly mysterious atmosphere, which the general emptiness of the area only enhanced.

There were few people here, but for some reason, you had been placed in a room far within the hospital complex. Maybe they wanted to hide you away, so that no one knew you were here until they were ready to introduce you to Asgard. Or until they were certain you were going to survive. It might cause a scandal if the prince's bride just up and died upon arrival.

Or perhaps it was to protect you. There were plenty of reasons why a human bride might not be accepted by the Asgardian populace; everything from nationalism, to someone wanting to make a bid for that crown themselves.

There were still no windows to be seen, and everything was made of stone, just like in the hospital room. Out here, in the halls and waiting rooms, the desks, chairs, and tables all seemed to be joined to the walls and floor, as if the whole place had been carved from a single, solid piece, like the rock-cut architecture of the fabled city of Petra. Here again were the creamy grays and oranges lining the walls, though a smooth black also made an appearance.

Eventually, you came to what must have been a foyer, with a high ceiling, complex stone mosaics, and huge, gorgeously carved double doors, but still no windows.

“We will be going outside now.” Loki said. “This facility is within the palace complex, and is not far from your special chambers, but we will have to cross a few halls and courtyards. There are plenty of places to sit, so if you need a rest, simply say so.”

He opened the doors for you, and you stepped out into a world of stone.

Everything was stone, stone or metal. Before you was a wide open courtyard, clearly unfinished, but spacious. At regular intervals were stone towers supporting open pillared hallways in a multiple storied, vaguely Roman courtyard style. The towers shot up, and up, and up...you climbed them with your gaze, following them to the heights to which they had to buttress each other with thin struts of stone, higher still, where they joined with an impossibly high ceiling.

There was a roof over the courtyard, so tall that your couldn't fathom how it had been built. Beyond the courtyards stacked walkways-six full stories-you could see the tips of other towers, lined with lights, merging with this high rise ceiling. Was the entire palace built under this massive shelter?

Clearly the sun did not reach into the palace. To offset this, the crystal-paned, inset lights were everywhere, creating complex patterns that mimicked the intricate knotted carvings that chased up the towers and pillars. The corbels glared down at you, fierce masks of bearded men, wolves, dragons and birds, lights in their eyes.

Combined, it was not as bright as sunlight, but not dim either. The softness of the glow made shadows diffuse, made the stone look soft and fake, and even shimmery in places, like the set pieces in eighties fantasy movies. If not for the pain in your bruises, you'd have thought the dreamy atmosphere was just that, and that you were about to wake up from this absurd dream any moment now.

But the pain was there, and denied that simple, hopeful wish. And Loki was there, gently urging you forward like he was a real gentleman, instead of a heinous war criminal. There were a few other people out here as well; walking the courtyards pillared halls, resting on stone benches, carving hollows into the ground.

There was no soil here. All stone. As you crossed the courtyard, you noticed black, and gray, and cloudy crystal inlaid into the ground in a shape reminiscent of a compass rose, decorated with silvery wire knotwork in bird and serpent shapes.

There were troughs and niches being carved into the ground that looked to you like they were meant to be flower beds...eventually. You had seen no dirt here yet, no grass or growing things at all. Maybe once you finally got outside. But for now, it felt as if you had left a building, only to exit into another building, that was in turn, within another building.

It was a bit suffocating.

Loki led you across several courtyards, each with a different pattern inlaid into their bare floor, and through vaulted hallways that still contained no windows. Many of these hallways intersected in large, circular domes, and few of them had any distinctive markings. Soon you were completely lost. With any luck, you would be able to get your hands on some paper, and create a map-otherwise, any escape attempts would be doomed from the word go.

But maybe that was the point.

Your staggering steps echoed down a particularly tall and wide hallway, almost completely devoid of people. You were almost at the end of your physical capabilities, and while there were places to sit, you felt like you must be close to your destination. You really wanted to be in a room whose dimensions you could be certain of. A space you could comprehend.

Loki brought you to a stop in front of a pair of carved wooden doors. As the first piece of architecture you had seen here that was something other than stone, you found them more beautiful than anything you'd seen all day. They were something almost normal, almost like something you would have at home. If you were insanely rich, or your dad was a carpenter or something. They were a warm terra-cotta color, carved with a dizzying array of knotwork, framed with blackened, riveted iron. The handles were iron serpents.

“We imported some things from your homeland. This redwood lumber is one such thing. From what I hear, these trees are emblematic of your country.”

“Er...” How to politely say, 'not really, even though most people who live there do know what a redwood is'. They weren't very important to anyone who didn't live near where they grew. They weren't what you would call 'quintessentially American'. There wasn't anything you could really call that. The place was just too damn big.

“We couldn't bring too much, not yet anyway.” He continued. “It is expensive, unfortunately, and we only have one ship. It can only carry so much, and it takes about three days to transport. Things are moving slowly, but our construction projects are moving along speedily. There's little else to do right now, save build.”

He opened the doors for you, and led you into a fairy tale.

#danceofthespheres #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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unsaidholland · 4 years

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kiss me | h. holland

inspired by like real people do by hozier, you don’t have to listen to it, but it might add to the feeling of the fic. (ps sorry to anyone named ryan, i’m sure y’all are cool people)

warnings: mentions of cheating

before you met harry, your life wasn’t the best. it obviously, wasn’t the worst it could have been. you were alive, and you had your friends, but you also had your issues. your ex, ryan, had cheated on you for who knows how long, but as soon as you found out, as much as it hurt, you still stayed but only because he promised he wasn’t going to do it again - what a liar.

it took you months after figuring out that he was cheating before you left him, and after leaving him you felt as if you had nothing left. you were an empty shell of a person, living alone in an apartment that was no longer home. every day was the same. wake up, go to school, come home, get ready for work, come home, sleep, and repeat. of course, you ate in between tasks and had to do your assignments, but life wasn’t stopping for you, so you didn’t stop for it, but you were on autopilot. you had nothing left but to keep going for the sake of being alive, and even so, you didn’t want that at all.

harry was a mutual friend. your friend, alice who you’d known from work, had introduced the two of you after she realized that you needed to go out and distract yourself from the hurt ryan had caused you, that maybe you just needed one person to help you remember you once were. slowly, harry became that person. after ryan, you were left with trust issues, fear, and grief. before you knew it, you and harry started dating, and that apartment of yours started feeling more like home with how often he was staying over.

the thing is, your last relationship was a mystery to harry. you told him the same thing whenever past relationships came up, “he cheated, and he’s an asshole, but it’s okay now because i have you!” sure he was curious, but he wasn’t going to pry - all he needed was you.

the two of you were sat on your couch. harry had his arm around you, eyes focused on a love island rerun, while you were trying to focus on the essay you were writing on your laptop. as the couple on the tv were arguing about whether one of them was being kept around as a last resort, you tensed up. you were ryan’s last resort, why wouldn’t you be harry’s too? the thought never left your head as the couple on the tv continued talking, your eyes focused on the screen of your computer as your fingers rested over the keys. what happened with ryan is over, plus harry would never ever treat you like that, you tried to remind yourself, but nonetheless that voice in the back of your head prevailed over your optimistic attempts.

putting your laptop aside, you excused yourself to the bathroom to try and calm yourself down. it was just harry, but your relationship was still only five months old and still blossoming. you couldn’t let yourself ruin this one and have it end up like what happened with ryan. you couldn’t have yourself lose the one good thing you had left in your life.

harry wanted you to talk to him. he knew that something was up, but he wasn’t going to bother you into talking to him because he knew it wasn’t going to be genuine. he wanted you to come to him, he wanted you to know deep down that he was there for you without him reminding you. he loved you, though he hasn’t said it yet, he knew for a fact that he loved you, but he also knew you would be scared to hear it. in some sad way, he knew that you were scared you weren’t enough for him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

you came back to the couch after a few minutes, thinking that the tv would have distracted harry from how long you were gone. the minutes felt like hours to the both of you, but neither of you would let each other know.

“you okay?” he asked you. it was a simple question, but he didn’t want a simple answer. he wanted you to confide in him, he wanted you to trust him, he wanted to know that you knew that he was going to be there for you no matter what without him telling you.

“i-” you quickly stopped yourself. it had been five months since the two of you started dating, but were you ready to let him know about everything? “i’m fine,” you said. you really weren’t, but you leaned closer into his side hoping that it would take the focus off the battle in your mind. he kissed the top of your head, and the two of you continued watching the episode playing on the tv.

later that night you still couldn’t shake the thoughts from your head. the two of you laid in your bed, harry was asleep, but your mind was racing with scenarios that couldn’t be farther from the truth. your heart knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, but your mind was still scared that you would get hurt again. you were staring at the ceiling with thoughts running through your head for so long, that you had to get up and put them to rest. after getting up, grabbing your phone and heading to your kitchen to begin brewing a cup of tea. leaning back on your kitchen counter, listening to the sound of the kettle boiling, you wondered if you would ever stop feeling like you weren’t enough.

days later, the feeling persisted. the thoughts were raking through your body as if a large wave was crashing upon a shore - all at once, and always there.

you and harry were having a chill day at home. for once, you didn’t have work, and you were caught up on whatever assignments you had, and harry was already finished the work he set out to do today. currently, he was in the shower, his phone on the coffee table next to your drink, while you were watching youtube on the tv. you so desperately wanted to go on his phone and just look.

it won’t be a big deal, you told yourself, he’s showering and he won’t know. plus, it’ll make yourself feel better. as much as you knew it was wrong, you grabbed his phone, unlocked it and went through his text messages. after finding nothing, you went on his instagram, then snapchat, and still found nothing.

“babe? everything okay?” harry. your head shot up in his direction at the sound of his voice. you immediately turned off his phone, and put it back down.

“i- i’m sorry, i just-“ you couldn’t get your words out properly, scared that this was going to be the end. you took a deep breath, and exhaled. “i just, i don’t know. i got scared because of the love island episode we were watching the other day, and i know i shouldn’t worry, but i just really didn’t know if we were going to end up like my last relationship, and i don’t want to lose you.” as you rambled, harry sat down next to you on the couch and faced you.

“look at me.” he interrupted you, making you make eye contact with him for the first time since he entered the room. you were terrified, and he could see it on your face. you searched his eyes for any sort of anger, but there was nothing.

“i’m not gonna ask you why you were going through my phone, okay? everything’s okay.” you relaxed a little at his words. “i’m not mad, and i’m not going to bug you about what happened with ryan, and you shouldn’t ask or worry about us. i love you, okay?” he loves you. he loves you? but how? your brows furrowed in confusion slightly at his words. how could he love you when you were overstepping the boundaries?

“but how?” you asked, voice barely carrying through. he didn’t see the messy side of you, he didn’t see the nights when he wasn’t there and you would tear yourself apart with negative thoughts.

“i love you, okay? how you see yourself isn’t how i see you, love. you aren’t what you see,” you looked him in the eyes, and he was telling the truth.

“i love you too, h.” you said it - the three words he was hoping you’d say, but never thought he would hear anytime soon. “i’m sorry for snooping by the way.” he knew you were sorry, you didn’t need to say it, but you had to let him know.

“just kiss me,” he said. so you did. and for the first time in a long time, you’ve never felt as whole as you did in that moment.

#harry holland #harry holland imagine #harry holland fic #harry holland x you

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breakingsomething · 3 years

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Dawn Station - Part Two

Basic summary: Chase Brody is being kept safe, far away from other people. So he thinks.

Content warnings: gore, body horror, stabbing, emeto, death mentions

Chase Brody is not ok.

Of course he's not. How is he expected to be? Ten people have died, and now he's being told he's next. He's been under police protection for days and judging by the strained snippets of conversation that he's caught from officers, even the others that had been with him are gone. Ten people, they had said. As far as Chase is aware, there were only nine other youtubers who'd been roped into this shit. Who else has this monster that wants them dead killed along with them? Does he even want to know?

He's been in this room for… three days? Four? Fuck, he doesn't remember. All he knows now is white walls, too close around him, with a bed, a tv in the top corner that he doesn't have a remote for, a black bin, a rolling table that's covered in books and other assorted things that he managed to bring with him, and two doors, one of which that leads to a small bathroom and one of which that leads outside. The second door only opens when he's being brought food. No one's telling him anything. He's scared out his mind.

An officer, a pale skinned woman with orange braids and a sympathetic smile, comes in a couple hours after he wakes for the day with breakfast. Toast, cold, with butter slabs and little packets of jam and sugar for his tea. Also cold. "Sorry, we don't have any Weetabix," she tells him with furrowed eyebrows and a sad tilt of the mouth as she clicks the door behind him. "We do have Cheerios and porridge, if you want something more to eat."

It's all he can do not to laugh. "No, thank you," says Chase, in a hoarse voice that hasn't been used in hours. "I want my phone back."

The officer winces. Her eyes are dark, crimson lipstick slightly smudged. Her nametag says "Sarah" on it in violet ink. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, in a voice so soft and falsely sympathetic it makes Chase want to scream. "I don't know if we can do that. We -"

"The others are dead, aren't they?" Chase interrupts. He knows this already. But it's worth saying to see the woman flinch. "All of them. So much for your oh-so-safe "police custody" bullshit."

She attempts to gather herself as professionally as she can, which is seemingly rather difficult. "I'm sorry," she repeats, and something about her tone is more genuine than before. "They are. But I swear to you, Mr Brody, we are doing everything we can to -"

"If I am going to die today," Chase says, interrupting again. "I want to talk to my goddamn family one more fucking time. Please get me my phone."

She stiffens, but gives a jerky little nod. He doesn't smile at her as she leaves. Not much to smile about. But she comes back ten minutes later and wordlessly hands him his slim rose phone, no expression on her face. He manages to upturn the corner of his lips in response.

Once she's left again, he turns his phone on and practically sighs at the sight of his two kids on his lockscreen. Little Connor and Louise, tiny kiddos, dressed up in their pristine school uniforms and grinning cheesily. His heart swells, and he swallows hard as the lump in his throat seems to expand. He can't cry. He's been crying enough lately. To think that two weeks ago, he was ecstatic to be receiving an email from Jack Mcloughlin himself, giving him the opportunity to play his new game's demo early. Look at him now.

Stacy is at the top of his contacts list, but only because he has her favourited still. He's not sure why. It just feels right to have her there. Her picture is a small, grainy image of her face next to a three year old Connor's. He has her looks more than Louise. Louise looks like her dad. She's a daddy's girl. Chase misses her so much it aches, and closes his eyes as he clicks Stacy's number.

She answers almost immediately. "Chase?" she yells, causing him to wince and pull the phone away from his ears. He hears her inhale sharply. "Sorry. Christ, Chase - Where the fuck are you?"

He swallows again, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. His legs are already beginning to bounce. "Police didn't tell you anything, huh," he mutters. "I'm in custody. They're apparently "keeping me safe," but I'm well aware of the fact that the others - Persephone, Rodney, Stanley, and Khia - are. Well." He clears his throat. "Dead."

He says it so matter of factly that you wouldn't know how close he was to tears had you not seen his face.

Stacy shifts, and Chase hears a door slam faintly. Two small voices giggle far off. He bites down on his lip as Stacy talks again. "Yeah. That's… yeah. Chase, I'm sorry. Uh… Jack Mcloughlin's dead too."

Chase sits bolt upright, eyes suddenly wide. "What?"

Stacy sounds alarmed. "I - Yes, did they not tell you? He died maybe two days ago. Same way as all the others. I'm sorry, Chase."

He can't breathe for a moment. Then he's numb and his body settles into cold, unfeeling static.

"Ok," he says flatly. "Great."

"Chase -"

"How are the kids?" he asks before she can finish. He's tired. He's been doing nothing but sleeping and he's tired. "I can hear them in the background, ha. Sounds like a fun time."

He can hear her scratching the space behind her ear. She does that when she's anxious. Nervous habit. She had gotten a little tattoo of a bee there when they were seventeen. It was a dare from their friend Daniel, who had also gotten a tattoo of a crocodile on his left thigh. Chase has a black bear on his right shoulder from the same occasion. When he and Stacy had been together, they would sometimes kiss the other's tattoos and descend into giggles remembering that slightly drunken night back in Ireland. His chest feels tight thinking about it. His eyes glaze over, and he tries to focus on something across the room.

"They're… not great," Stacy murmurs after a moment, making him jump. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Some brat at school told them about - this whole situation. Told them their dad was going to die. Apparently, she made up a song about it."

Chase hisses softly, grateful for another emotion besides grief and missing to focus on. "Fuck's sake. Which kid was this?"

"You know that girl who was making fun of Louise's accent last year and put chips in her hair?"

"That kid again? I thought the school dealt with her."

A sigh. "Apparently not. They came home in tears. I've been keeping them home since then."

Chase shakes his head in disbelief. "Shit, Stace. Can I… can I talk to them?"

She sighs again. "I… I suppose. But - how have you been? I take it its not been great, but are you at least ok?"

What counts as ok? He doesn't know. "I'm not dead yet. So there's something. I guess I can't really say much more than that."

"Papa?" cries a voice on the end of the line, and a grin breaks Chase's face as he recognizes his son, Connor, yelling from somewhere quite close to Stacy. "Is that Papa? Mama, let us talk - Louise, Papa's on the phone!"

Chase can't help but laugh as his daughter also chimes in, two little voices clamoring for his attention. "Calm down, kiddos, there's plenty of me to go round," he grins, pushing his hair back from his face so he can concentrate. "How are you both? One at a time, Louise first."

"Favouritism," he hears Connor sulk, but the boy quiets.

"I'm ok," Louise beams. He can hear her smile, and sees it when he closes his eyes. "I can't go to school cause Megan Penicuik was being mean. We made cookies, though, me and Con-Con! All by ourselves, no help from Mama at all!"

"Now, that's simply not true," he hears Stacy laugh in the background. Chase laughs too, his heart suddenly aching. Something weighs heavy in his chest, but he tries to push it away, feeling sick.

A scuffle on the end of the line, and then it's Connor speaking. "I miss you, Papa!" he cries. "I wanna give you a - a chocolate chip cookie, I have one here." His voice becomes muffled, and Chase hears him chewing. "Yum yum yum. Can we push a cookie down the phone? Like, through the speakers, Mama!"

Chase listens to a small squabble break out, then hears Stacy sigh dramatically. "They're doing just fine," she says, sounding so tired, yet vaguely amused. "I… I hate to say it, but I should probably go. Connor's games club is in half an hour and I haven't gotten ready at all. My makeup's a state." Her voice softens. "Will you be… ok?"

Will he? He doesn't know.

"Stace," he murmurs. His chest feels tight. "I could die. Like, tonight. That's what people are saying. I'm the last one left."

A pause, then Stacy lets out a shaky sigh. "Christ, Chase…"

He gathers his strength. "Listen. Listen, Stace. If I die tonight - I just want you to know how much I love you, ok? Even if we… if we weren't meant to be together anymore. You're one of my best friends, you know? So… take care of the kids. Don't lose yourself. And by god, don't start drinking again."

She gives a choked laugh. "Chase. God, I - Don't fucking die tonight."

He doesn't know how to tell her he won't have a choice.

As soon as the call's ended, he opens up his roommate's contact. He can't stand the echoing silence that seems to go on forever in the minute or so before the ringing starts. He supposes that if tonight is his last night alive, he should say goodbye. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes him feel sick to say it.

He nearly sobs with relief when he hears the line click, and a familiar German accent speak loudly in his ear. "Chase?"

Chase sniffles, laughing softly. "Hey, Henny."

Henrik curses, and something slams. "Mother of God, Chase Brody, do you have any idea - Are you - Fuck, are you alright?"

Good question. "I don't know," he admits, bouncing his leg anxiously, and staring at his chipped black nails. "I mean, I'm… scheduled to die tonight. So probably not. Really, I've been weirdly calm about all this."

Henrik huffs, and Chase can almost picture him getting red in the face, yanking back his hair and staring out the window of their flat with narrowed, pale blue eyes. "They have not done anything about it? Surely it is not possible that a murderer who is killing in patterns cannot be apprehended? You would think that would be easy, especially if you are being held in high security. Motherfucking useless British police. Not that German ones were much better, but Christ -"

Chase cuts him off before he can rant for another five minutes. "How are the others? Are Jackie, Marv and Jem holding up ok?"

Henrik sighs, blowing out his cheeks. "Mhm. Marvin has gone a bit mad. Fucking idiot is spending way too much time online, reading up on your situation. He seems convinced that you are going to die as well. According to Jackie, he spent all of yesterday out of the house and came back saying he had been performing. But Jackie says he had not had any parties scheduled for that day, so he was talking shit."

Chase winces. His friend Marvin is a child's birthday party performer, a magician, and spends a lot of time perfecting fun tricks and illusions to add into his routine. Chase knows how much he enjoys his job. But he also knows that Marvin's habit of spending hours on internet forums and sites, learning things from other performers, can be bad for him. "Christ. I… Goddammit it. How's Jackie coping?"

He hears a microwave go off in the background. Henrik mutters something that Chase can't hear, then keeps talking. "Jackie has been at the gym every day since you were taken in. Overworking himself. He did come round yesterday and, uh, spoke about how scared he was for you. Cried a lot, poor man. I am not good with comforting people, but I tried. He does not know what to do with himself anymore."

This isn't surprising. Chase is well aware of Jackie's habit of overexercising and pushing himself too far when he was angry or upset. "And Jameson?"

Something clatters, like Henrik's rummaging in a cupboard. A fridge opens and slams shut, and then Henrik is back. "He has been round at our flat a lot. Did you know Euan ended things with him? I did not, until he told me the day before yesterday. He was dreadfully upset. The timing was… not great, to say the least. I do not think he is doing too well, but he refuses to accept any of the help I wish to give him. He kept asking about me instead. Really, sometimes I wish he was not such a good actor."

So does Chase. Jameson is never one to be open about his feelings, instead trying to help everyone else first. Chase loves him a lot, but he wishes the filmmaker would be less stubborn and insistent that he was always ok. His heart aches at the thought of Jameson suffering alone, especially now - he and his boyfriend Euan had been so close, as well. The thought that he might never be able to figure out what happened between them hurts. "Me too. God, Hen, me too. Give them all my love though, yeah? Tell Marvin to take some time to do self care, and tell Jackie to take breaks, and tell Jameson to talk to his therapist. And you… don't you overwork yourself either. I know what you're like. Only one cup of coffee a day, dude, remember. Don't make me come over there."

Henrik laughs softly, but there's a sadness to it. "You sound as though you are saying goodbye."

Something stabs into Chase's heart. He tries to catch his breath through the lump in his throat. "Henrik. I'm going to die tonight."

There's a long pause. He can hear Henrik adjusting, rubbing his face and knocking his glasses askew. Maybe he knows his roommate too well. Far too well, maybe well enough that he knows what he'll say next. "There has to be another way."

Chase shakes his head despite Henrik being unable to see him. "No. No, Hen, no. This - this is what's happening, and we can't just… fix it. I wish we could, cause I don't even understand why, and it's so scary, and… God, I wish we could. I have so much left I want to do, and…"

He trails off. Henrik doesn't speak. Chase imagines him pulling the phone away from his face, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his mouth so as not to cry. The image hurts. Chase hurts. He holds the phone tight, aching to be somewhere, anywhere else other than here.

"You know," he says, voice choked as he speaks. "It's ironic how much I wanted to die a few months ago, and now I'm here, and I'm suddenly so scared."

"You are not going to die," Henrik suddenly shouts. There is anger in his voice that Chase knows is not directed at him. "You are not. It will not just all end like that, Chase Brody. I will not let it."

Something hot pricks the backs of Chase's eyes. He swallows hard, his chest tightening, his legs bouncing harder. "Henrik. Henrik, I - I have to go. I have to go. I'm sorry. I love you, dude. You know that? I love you."

"Chase," Henrik practically sobs. "Shit, I love you too. But you are not going to die."

Chase ends the call and throws up in the black bin next to his bed.

Night comes quickly, Chase thinks.

He thinks, because an officer comes to take his phone soon after his call with Henrik ends. He's starting to regret hanging up, but it had to have been what was best. Of course it was what was best. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does. This is something he has to keep telling himself. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does.

The officers ask what he wants for dinner that night instead of giving him choices. He gets it. It's a last meal. He takes full advantage of it and orders pepperoni cheese stuffed crust pizza and garlic sticks, his favourite, with barbeque sauce and churros. It all tastes like cardboard. He eats it anyway, because he's bored and his mouth still tastes like vomit and if he's going to die, it's only fitting that he goes out with a Domino's in him.

Before he's even finished eating, an armed guard comes and takes him across the building. It's the first time he's left his room in days, and he's surprised to see how dark it is outside, how little people are around. The few people he does see stare at him, some open mouthed with awe, some with sad eyes like a parent trying to tell their child that their pet fish died. Chase stares at the floor. Stares at the gun tucked into the waistband of the officer in front of him. He's scared, and his heart is racing faster than it has in years, and he thinks he's dissociating a little because he doesn't feel real and his fingertips are numb. Adrenaline thrums through his body, warming him and erasing the painful cold. Fuck, but he's scared. He's so, so goddamn scared.

He's taken to an entirely different room, a slightly bigger one that looks nearly the same, but with wooden chairs sat all around the border. There's no TV in this room. "Sit here," one of the officers says, guiding him to the blue covered bed and gesturing for him to sit. He does so, feeling silly and light with panic. He thinks he's going to be sick again. His breaths aren't coming right and fuck, he might faint from the sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness that's washing over him now.

One of the officers that has just come in walks over and sits next to him. He's in full uniform, a radio on his vest, a bat strapped to his belt. "Are you alright, Mr Brody?" he asks gently, looking at him with kind brown eyes, and Chase sobs with relief for some kind of comfort.

"H-h-having a p-panic attack," he stammers, shifting on the bed to try and feel something, clawing at his skin under his grey hoodie and desperately trying not to cry. "N-need my - my - my asth-ma in-inhaler, p-please, I can't br-breathe -"

He's brought his inhaler, and he clutches it gratefully, clinging to it like a child. The cold button grounds him. Maybe, maybe if he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough, he'll wake up in his bed at home and be able to get up and shower in a bathroom that's not small or lit too brightly and then he can go downstairs to the kitchen to find Henrik half asleep at the table, three cups of coffee in front of him, wearily participating in whatever Chase's dumb early morning joke is, and then he can eat toast that's not burnt or done too lightly and play his music while he writes or goes on a walk outside. Maybe. Maybe.

The armed guards keep watch over him for two full hours.

Chase Brody is terrified.

It's when it hits the two and a half hour mark that he begins to notice anything different. A faint ringing in his ears. He thinks it's his tinnitus and waves it off, simply swatting at the air around his head like that will help at all. One of the guards notices immediately. "Sir, are you alright?"

Chase nods. He's not, but he doesn't need them dithering over him. Unfortunately, the guard doesn't let up. "Seriously, it's important that you tell us what's happening. Anything at all. Anything that could help you."

Well, that's reassuring. "Strange noise," he murmurs, shaking his hair out his face. "I think it's just me, though, I'm alright -"

But the guard is standing, muttering something into the radio strapped to his chest, and is it Chase's imagination, or are more people entering the room? "What's happening?" he asks, but he gets no response, and he's starting to feel strangely dizzy and tired, like something heavy is dragging his eyelids down. "I don't… h-hey, I don't feel too… too well…"

Someone is speaking to him but the world is already blurring, his head light, floaty. "Stacy?" he slurs, trying to get a grip on the bedsheets beneath him. "Someone needs t'... m'kids, they…"

Chase Brody is no longer in the same room as he was before.

He doesn't know when that changed. He can't pinpoint the exact moment where the walls darkened and raised with pipes and doors and panels, he doesn't know when his bed disappeared beneath him and the floor became sticky and black, he doesn't know when the bright light of his room became a soft blue glow, lighting up the room from behind him. He doesn't know when the room had stretched both ways into a long hallway, lined with slivers of light through the windows. He doesn't know why, when he stands, his legs nearly crumple beneath him. And when he turns - god, when he turns, and he looks out the enormous windows behind him - he doesn't know why a calming sensation of numbness settles over him, burning his skin like pins and needles.

He is staring out at the vast abyss of space.

It's a blackness he's never seen before. It seems to go on forever, and maybe it does, and there is nothing but tiny pinpricks of silver light of gaseous stars piercing the inky nothingness. Nothing but that, and the ball of green and blue that Chase knows, somewhere in his mind. Earth. Earth, where he is and isn't, where his body should be, where he never left, and what kind of nightmare is this? What kind of sick nightmare, he thinks dizzily, his thoughts chugging slowly as though through a thick soup. Everything is spinning. There is no sound, the world is broken, and the space is fucking endless.

Move, says the tiny part of his brain that still has sense. Get out. Get out.

His footsteps echo on the metal panes of the floor, and he resists the tightening urge in his stomach to vomit.

He doesn't know why this place is familiar.

The hallway seems to go on forever. All the doors along the way to the left have small, glowing panels beside them that seem to demand some type of access keycard, which Chase very much does not have. Eventually he reaches one that he can open, and stumbles into a large room with a table in the centre, the walls covered in photos and clippings that he doesn't bother taking closer looks at. There is only one small window in here, over a sleek black couch that seems to have nearly been shredded right through the middle. The table has a bolted down chair and a large pile of papers next to a cracked laptop that splutters weakly as it asks for a password. The room is too dark. Chase slowly walks through it, wincing at the sound his boots make on the floor, wincing at the silence, heart racing with the promise of another panic attack that he pushes down forcefully, gripping his own wrist for support. This isn't right, screams the universe. This is too familiar. This is too real. This is too familiar to be real.

Chase has noticed that everything in this place, despite its immediate appearance of immaculate properness, seems to be slightly out of place. This becomes more apparent in the room adjacent to the one he'd just been in, a room filled with sealed metal crates and boilers that bubble menacingly from their perches on the walls, a room which has clearly been nearly destroyed. Black claw marks have torn out chunks of the walls, wires ripped from the floor, buzzing weakly and sparking from wherever they were thrown after their violent uprooting. Dark red stains splash across the floor like a tragic painting that makes Chase's stomach upturn sickly. A vent on the ceiling hisses, and the man jumps and bolts, all last dregs of courage leaving him in an instant. He knows this is a dream. This is a dream, nothing is real, nothing is real, it must be just a dream.

"I've gone to hell," he sobs aloud, clamping both hands over his mouth as a cry climbs up his throat. "O-oh my god, I've gone to hell."

This is what you get for being a shitty, alcoholic dad and husband, he thinks, and promptly throws up on the floor next to the fresh bloodstains.

The rooms start to blur. Objects to objects, light to light, black walls and coloured glow and sparks, hissing, echoing rumbles, all becoming one in Chase's mind. He's long gone past the stage of a panic attack; he's in a state of utter numb calm, now. In one room he finds a long, black lighter and holds it tightly in his hands for comfort, twisting it round and round in buzzing fingers just to feel something solid against his skin to ground him. Please, he prays softly, wiping sweat from his forehead, struggling to breathe as his chest tightens and the world seems to grow hotter and smaller. Please, let me wake up, let me wake up from this, please.

And then something is standing behind him.

He doesn't know how he knows. It's just a sensation of silent shock in him, of I am not alone, a stabbing feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something is there. He feels eyes on him. He can't - fuck, he can't move, and all the emotion in him seems to be rising to a painful crescendo. I am not alone in here. I am not alone in here.

"Who's there," he says in a small, cracked voice, not daring to turn. It's barely a question. "What do you want from me."

Nothing but a low hissing, and, most frightening of all, a rumbling growl that nearly sends Chase to the floor in a faint.

He has to look.

He looks.

It's an… an astronaut.

Neither of them move, and Chase's grip on the lighter in his hands tightens, trying to find some form of comfort, anything. "Why am I here?" he manages, swallowing back hot bile that burns his throat and makes him gag softly. "Why, why, what nightmare is this? Am I dead? Did the killer get me and this is my hell?"

The astronaut is silent.

Fury bubbles in Chase's chest, overriding the fear for a moment. "Talk!" he shouts, perhaps stupidly, but he doesn't care. "Please! What is happening?"

Then things get perhaps even stranger, somehow. A glowing 2D box of light appears in front of the astronaut, hovering in the air, too quiet until black text begins to appear on it, cartoonishly video game like blooping noises playing with each letter. Chase watches in awe. He's unable to speak.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are the Player.

Chase reads the words over and over and over.

"My name is Chase Brody," he says, voice wavering with uncertainty, because something here is wrong, wrong, wrong, so ridiculously wrong, and he hates the way things are clicking in his mind. "I shouldn't - be here. I think I'm dreaming and I want to go home."

The text flashes.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are <player_variable_BroAverage>. You are the Player.

Chase feels like he's above his body, like nothing he's seeing is real anymore. "Please let me go home."

<TheAnti.chr_v09> I am <TheAnti.chr_v09>. I am the Anti. You are the player. Player objective: escape. Anti objective: kill the Player. Initialization - Upon game startup, play <soundtrack_opening2>, set spawn and character sprites -

Chase can't take this. "Stop it!" he cries, and he shouldn't step forwards so confidently, but he does, slashing his hand through the air in front of him. "Tell me what you -"

The astronaut explodes.

No. No, it doesn't explode; Chase's mind is taking a moment to make sense of it, to rationalize the way the helmet has shattered and there is nothing but sheer white and glowing green eyes, hundreds of them, underneath, the largest one on the being's neck, splitting open with disgustingly inhuman squelching sounds, and the way the suit has torn and a mouth has opened up on the stomach, a gaping maw with knives for teeth and a slimy crimson tongue, and the way rips open along the material and more eyes open, burning red skin like charred meat, black veins rising under its skin. It hisses and cracks and growls and hums and it isn't like anything Chase has ever seen before, or maybe it is, because he knows this monster. He's seen this monster. And fuck, now he knows why this world is familiar, because he's been here, he's played this game. This can't be real. This can't be real.

"Posttraumatic nightmares," he can hear Henrik saying to him, the man's voice comforting. "Nightmares that occur after a traumatic event and can contain, what is the word… recurring themes that make you experience intense negative emotions. Maybe that is why you are having such strange dreams, my friend. You have been through a lot in these past few weeks."

That had been months ago. I thought I got over those dreams. I thought I got over those dreams.

He's running. His legs are already burning, chest already tight, why did he have to have used all his energy on his panic attack? Is the monster still following him? Chase can't turn to check, and the blood in his veins is racing through his body faster than he's used to, his heart in his ears as he flies round a corner, barely able to catch a breath. This isn't real, he thinks. It's another nightmare. Please, this isn't real, this isn't -

And then something wet is snaking round his chest, pulsing in a way that makes Chase gag, and something sharp presses into the skin on his back and a burst of numbness runs over him like cold water, causing his body to go limp against the alien - because it is an alien, isn't it, he knew this already - behind him. Cold heaviness seeps through his veins, combatting the light weightlessness that the adrenaline was giving him. He tries to cough again, to speak as his lungs empty of air, but the alien only grips his arms tight enough to piece his skin with sharp claw-like fingers. A glance down at his chest, and he sees the tip of the bloodstained rod jutting through his skin. It doesn't really register. A light laugh escapes his lips, because it's funny, really, how he's about to die at the hands of a video game antagonist.

No, he's not about to die. This isn't real. It can't be, it's another bad dream, of course it is. But if it's not real, then what happened to Jack Mcloughlin and the others, all of those… all of…

The world spins.

And the world lights up in flames.

Chase had briefly forgotten about the lighter he'd picked up for support, and now he's putting it to good use; one flick of the switch and the alien is alight as though it had been soaked in gasoline, burning orange spreading across its suit, the crackling drowning out the monster's screeches. Its grip loosens on Chase's arms, and he pulls free, and the universe spins as the rod in his chest slips out like it's nothing, leaving a gaping emptiness in him. Please, he screams, in his mind or out loud, he doesn't know. Please. Please.

Please, wake me up.

White light. It floods the whole world, for just a moment, and then Chase's eyes are open and he is gasping for air, hands flying to his chest and feeling nothing but the soft material of his shirt, no pain except for the squeeze of his lungs as he coughs desperately into his sleeve. There are people surrounding him now; the police officers and armed guards from before, helping him sit up, holding a sick bucket in front of him as he throws up the little that's left in his stomach weakly, too much noise but nowhere near as bad as the silence of the Dawn Station. Nowhere near as bad as the hissing creaks of the Anti. Nowhere near as bad as his nightmare, because it was a nightmare, of course that wasn't real - nowhere near as bad as the nightmare that he'd thought was going to kill him.

I lived. I survived the night.

He's had this thought before, but this time, it's met with relief.

"You dreamed about the setting of a video game."

"Not just any video game. The, uh… the new Jack Mcloughlin game, Dawn Station. All the people who played the demo… died. I didn't die. The night I was supposed to, after all the others, I - I dreamed about the game. And the antagonist of the game. It's this, uh, this alien thing, in an astronaut suit. Tried to kill me. Apparently it's weak to fire, although I don't remember that from the actual game, maybe it was a secret that wasn't in the demo we were all sent, but I burned it, and it stabbed me, and I got away, not - not in that order. Does that… does that make sense, doctor?"

Dr. Ross scrutinizes Chase for a moment before turning his chair back to face his computer. The sound of his mouse clicking fills the room, off beat from the eternal clicking of the plain white clock on the plain white walls, decorated only with bookshelves and trays of medicines. Chase has never been in a more boring doctor's office. Usually his therapy sessions have more to look at, but this is a different therapist than he normally goes to, and all he can do is fidget with his hands on his lap and stare out the window at the

earth, the stars, the black abyss of emptiness that Chase could get lost in and never be found

setting sun through the trees just outside the building. The doctor's pen clicks, clicks, clicks. It sounds like the Anti's teeth, chattering against each other as it yawns, its maw opening wide enough for a head to be torn right off. Click, click, click. Chase closes his eyes, the repeating sounds like a mantra. He focuses on that instead. It grounds him.

"You have a history of nightmares."

Chase nods without looking. "I was prescribed triazolam by my first therapist. I took them for a year or so without changes except the lowering of doses a couple of times, because I was getting weaned off them. They helped. Nightmares didn't continue after that."

The other man nods slowly. "Hm. I can imagine the trauma of this recent event that you've been through was enough to bring these nightmares back to the forefront of your mind, especially given the contents of this dream in particular. We may have to ease you back onto medication over the course of your next few sessions here, which should be easier, given that it'll be a couple weeks before we send you home. Is that alright, Mr Brody?"

Click, click, click. Chase nods. Sunlight warms his face, and he sighs softly. "Sounds good, Dr. Ross. When will I be able to see my family?"

The man frowns, his forehead creasing. "Hopefully soon, although it will be slightly complicated, given the circumstances." A breath leaves him, and he tilts his head to the side slightly. His white collar digs into the fold of his neck. Chase keeps his eyes trained on that. "And these are strange circumstances, are they not?"

"They are," Chase mutters. He clenches his fists in his lap. "They are, yeah."

He should have died. He doesn't know why he didn't die. He doesn't even know what it was that killed the others. Really, the nightmare he'd had makes sense. It was easily written off as a traumatic event that had brought back old nightmares. Of course there was no way any of it had been real. That's ridiculous. Just ridiculous. He doesn't know why he's thinking that.

His hand trails down his shirt. Underneath, on the skin of his stomach, is a thick scar that hadn't been there before the nightmare he'd had. Right where the rod had pierced his stomach.

Coincidence. Coincidence.

"Do you have any other concerns, Mr Brody?"

"I don't believe so."

"Good."

Click. Click. Click.

#boop writes #jacksepticeye #chase brody #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #dawn station

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livexdolan · 4 years

Text

Sushi ~e.d

A/n: ok so, yes, this is another Ethan story, I’m sorry I can’t help it, he’s my baby. Anywho- this is based off a lucid dream I had A WHILE ago- but are we surprised this took me so long to write? (the answer’s no lol) I was just mentioning the whole dream thing because, this is my story so of course it doesn’t make complete sense- sue me.

Summary: You’re going out for dinner to your favorite Japanese restaurant that happens to be packed. The only available seats are at the sushi bar next to two young guys You don’t realize you know the two men until it’s too late- but is this just a blessing in disguise?

Warnings; Fluff, anxiety, fluff, and, oh hey- some more fluff.

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags; @episkygrant (my bup :)) and @georgia302

ALSO- THE TWINS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE 18 IN THIS SO DON’T COME FOR ME!! OK, ENJOY :))

“Would you just walk?!” I exclaimed, pushing- or trying I should say- my 6 4’ dad through the little curtain that has a very large sumo wrestler that never fails to creep me out.

My mom just sighs behind us, “Kevin would you stop being an ass, we’re all- oh,” my mom stops mid-scold. We all stand close to the corner as we look around our favorite local Japanese restaurant.

The place is packed, every table and booth occupied by families or teens chatting loudly. Waitresses move around quickly table to table and I just happen to see that the sushi bar seems to have empty seats. “Good evening, Welcome to Wasabi, is it just the three of you tonight?” The hostess asks us.

“Y-yes, just the three of us,” My mom replies still seemingly shocked at how many people are in the small place.

“Okay, I’m sorry but there’s a 30-minute wait on any booths and tables right now-”

“Can’t we sit at the sushi bar?” I say, pointing over to the counter where two people are sitting, three seats open on the left of them, and three on the right of them. My parents look at each other, me, then the hostess, my dad raising his eyebrows as though he’s asking if that’s okay.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry I should’ve asked if you’d be fine sitting there,” She smiles at us, grabbing three menus.

“Oh, it’s totally cool, no worries,” My mom smiles reassuring the hostess, who now that I’m getting a closer look at, seems to be new.

We make our way over to the bar when one of the men sitting at the counter turns to the other, giving me a view of his side profile that I know way too well. I can’t help stopping completely, my mom bumping into me and asking what’s wrong.

My throat feels tight, my hands are clammy and my mouth feels like someone just stuffed cotton in it. “Y/n, are you okay?” My mom questions worry evident in her eyes as she searched my glossed over ones.

I can’t speak, I can only move my eyes between my mom and the two tall, loud men sitting at the sushi bar. My mouth keeps opening and I can only imagine that I look something like a fish out of water. No way is it them.

My dad sits next to them and looks back, realizing my mom and I are not following him anymore his brows furrow and he looks around confused at what’s happening. “Oh- honey is that- are those the-” I cut my mom off by nodding my head rapidly.

“I-” I clear my throat trying to dislodge the lump in my throat, “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I push past my mom and keep my head down as I pass the sushi bar and avoid my dad’s worried looks.

I glance up and see the older twin filming a snap video of his younger twin messily eating a piece of sushi and they both start laughing. I walk down the small hallway and go into the bathroom. Looking myself in the mirror I pray that this isn’t a dream.

Okay, breathe, it’s just the Dolan Twins sitting at the sushi bar at the local restaurant in your town, sitting next to your parents at the sushi bar. I look at myself in the mirror and try to fix my hair a little, shifting my shirt out of habit. I add a little bit of chapstick to my lips.

I take a deep breath and walk back out into the loud restaurant. When I get back to the sushi bar I’m surprised- to say the least- to see that everyone’s shifted down to the right one seat, leaving me with nowhere to sit.

That’s not what has my mouth hanging open- it’s the loud obnoxious laughs coming from not only my parents- but the twins as well. Holy shit. My parents are laughing and joking with Ethan and Grayson fucking Dolan.

I slowly make my way over to my mom who’s sitting in the seat that was supposed to be mine. I shyly tap her shoulder, she turns around and gives me a soft smile, “Oh, honey! We had to move down but there’s a seat next to Ethan.”

I bite my lip and look up, seeing that I’ve become the center for attention. I make eye contact with the older twin and he smiles at me, calming me a little bit as I start to stumble over to the seat next to him my hands start to sweat and I crack my knuckles out of habit when nervous, “O-ok.”

I try my best to gracefully slide into the high seat next to him without leaning too close to him. He does a quick scan over my body, his tongue coming out to lick his lips before he clears his throat and looks up at me. Once he notices that I’m already staring at him he blushes, and I feel like my entire body flushes and is on fire.

He sends me a shy smile and I bite my lip to hide the wide grin that is fighting its way onto my face. I feel like I’ve just won a medal or something, I made Ethan Dolan blush.

“Ok, so I’m Ethan, and I’m assuming you’re Y/n. Your parents told us a bit about yourself.”

“Oh God,” I groan, putting my head in my hands and pushing my hair back before looking at him again and very shyly asking, “what’d they tell you?”

He chuckles at my reaction and I realize that his laugh is my favorite sound- on and off-camera. His dimples show as he replies casually, in a cocky tone, “Just that you’re 17, a senior, really into YouTube…” he trails off and sends me a teasing smirk.

“Great!” I say sarcastically, “so they told you I watch y’alls videos?”

“And that you might have some Dolan Twins merch in the back of your closet- I was a little upset to hear you don’t wear it much anymore, to be honest.”

I drop my head to the counter with a small strangled noise then sit back up straight and clear my throat looking him dead in his hazel eyes, “Ok, look- stop making that face,” I point an accusatory finger at him as he bites his lip to suppress his smile and holds his hands up in surrender, I roll my eyes at him, “I’m not like- I don’t know everything about you and a bunch of weird facts and shit like ‘Did you know Ethan Dolan sprained his right knee when he was 4 years old after his sister pushed him down the stairs?’ Ok? Yes, I watch your videos, yes I follow you on social media, yes I’ve been watching you since like before 4OU, Yes- ok, I used to have a fan account at one point- but I’m not like that anymore. I got your merch for my birthday a year ago and I- I don’t really fit it anymore so I don’t wear it. Ok,” I take a deep breath, “that’s it.”

“Wow- okay, a lot of information to process but I think I get it now. I’m sorry for teasing you, I was just joking.”

“I know you were- but I also know that you two deal with crazy fans and I want you to know I’m not one of them.”

He sends me a smile and is about to say something when we’re interrupted by the waitress placing my food in front of me. My mouth starts to water at the sight of one of my favorite meals- shrimp fried rice. “Damn, that looks good,” Ethan hums from next to me.

I look up at him through my lashes, “You want to split it with me? There’s no way I’ll be able to finish this, I never do,” I laugh and gesture to the bowl.

“Oh no, it’s-” his eyebrows raise at my stern look, and I slightly push the bowl closer to him, putting it right between us, he sighs and gives me a crooked smile, picking up his silverware, “I guess one bite wouldn’t hurt, right?” I nod my head, agreeing with him, and hand him the soy sauce.

Twenty minutes later we were laughing and we had all fallen into a very comfortable flow of chatter and silence and my nerves were dissolved almost fully. My mom and dad get up with Grayson to go over and pay the bill while Ethan and I finish up our food.

As Ethan steals a shrimp from my designated side of the bowl- again- I hit his fork with mine causing him to drop it and his fork hits the side of the bowl with a loud clatter, making everyone look at us as we both just look at each other. We both grow red in the face and start laughing.

Once our laughter died down a little I realized I was getting a little chilly so I set my fork down and rubbed my bare arms to try and get some warmth. “You cold?”

Ethan’s voice startles me slightly and I just smile at him before grabbing my fork again to steal my shrimp back, “Just a little, but m’fine. It’s not that bad.”

He sighs and shakes his head slightly, “Well, I don’t believe you,” I’m about to question him when he stands up abruptly. He starts tugging his large hoodie off his body, as he pulls it over his head, his long-sleeve comes up a little. I blush before quickly averting my eyes from his prominent v-line and try to keep my mind from diving head-first into the gutter, “Here,” he says in a soft, but commanding voice, pushing the hoodie towards me.

I sigh and look up at him, “What’re the chances of you still giving me that hoodie even if I tell you I’m really not that cold and I’ll be fine?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

He smiles at me, his dimples showing and the mole on his cheek raising slightly. He shrugs and pushes it into my lap, “Very high.”

I shake my head and slide out of my seat, “Fine,” I pull the hoodie on over my head and as I pull my hair out the back, I feel a hand against my face lightly pushing the hair out of my face.

My breath hitches as my eyes meet Ethan’s. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my cheek before going to my ear, “What’re the chances of you giving me your phone number so we can hang out again and keep in touch?”

I look up at him through my lashes, grabbing his hand and leaning up to his ear, whispering just as softly as he did, “Very high.”

I pull away slowly and he smiles at me. When I return the smile he winks. I snort and roll my eyes, grabbing my phone off the bar, I hand it to him as he pushes his phone into my hand. Already pulled up to a new contact page, I put in my number and name into his phone. I quickly open his camera and take a picture with my tongue out, fingers up in a ‘peace’ symbol with my right eye dropped into a wink, I set that as my contact photo before he suddenly grabs me and pulls me into his arms.

I gasp as my back meets his hard chest and he wraps one arm around me, my phone in his other hand, the camera pulled up and pointing towards our faces, “Smile baby,” he kisses the side of my head quickly before smiling at the camera. My face flushes deep red and I grin at the camera. The butterflies in my stomach from the pet name are so strong that I feel like I might fall over.

“Okay, lovebirds, let’s go,” Grayson’s voice brings us back to reality and I realize that my parents have already stepped outside.

We walk outside and I pull the sleeves of Ethan’s hoodie further down so that I can grab them with my hands, making ‘hoodie paws’ as some people put it. I look down to hide the constant blush that’s on my face when Ethan wraps his arm around my waist again. I look over at my parents, worried to see their reactions only to find them smiling softly at us before looking away once they saw I was watching them.

I turn and bury my head in Ethan’s chest, wanting to feel his warmth again and have him hug me. I wrap my arms around his neck and he ducks his head down to put it in the crook of my neck, his scent completely engulfs just like it did when I put his hoodie on and I smile at the sweet, soothing smell. We can faintly hear my parents getting Grayson’s number and bidding him goodbye.

We reluctantly pull away from each other, very slowly. Ethan smiles at me and kisses my nose, “I promise you- we’re going to hang out soon. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“You better,” I say back and lean up to kiss his nose.

I turn out of his grip and go to quickly hug Grayson, “It was so nice meeting you,” I grin up at him and he mirrors my expression.

“It was awesome meeting you too, Y/n, you have some pretty cool parents,” he chuckles.

I look over at my parents saying goodbye to Ethan before my mom catches my eye and winks. I turn back to Grayson, “Yeah, I really do.”

#its a shit ending #what'd you expect #ethan x reader #ethan dolan #grayson and ethan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan smut #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan smut #grayson and ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson x reader #dolantwins #dolan twins smut #my writing

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bumbershots · 3 years

Text

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER THREE: WHO ARE YOU?

Author’s note: Hello! Once more I would like to thank you all for the love this story’s been getting, it truly blows my mind. I am also looking for a beta reader so if anyone out there is interested let me know! (: Let’s pick up right where we left off...

Story masterlist ** Word count: 2.3K **

Two souls don't find each other by simple accident, Harry thought after taking a seat for the first time that night, his feet were probably going to be swollen tomorrow, they were killing him already. But he wasn't keen on turning down a dance from the girl collapsing in the settee right next to him. A slow Amy Winehouse song was their cue to rest.

"Do you want a beer?" Her voice sounded a bit hoarse, probably from all the giggling and singing she did while dancing the night away.

"Yes please."

He watched her trot to the small bar on the other side of the flat, focused on how the multiple bracelets bounced in her left wrist as she instructed her brother which beer to give her. As she came back to take her previous seat, he felt a small wave of anxiety for wanting nothing more than to start a conversation with her, as she handed him the beer. Usually it was the other way around, but in most of the cases, people wanted to know his persona.

He knew the silence was becoming awkward, but he was still debating whether to ask about her upbringing or what she did for work, whatever the case was, he didn't want to make a fool out of himself, he almost never seemed to be that lucky.

"You're not used to people being calm around you, are you?" Alma’s frown os curiosity is a mirror to the one on the musician's face.

"Yes and no?" Harry's coy tone makes her smile warmly and shake her head in denial, "so, I'm Hampstead station guy?" Her eyes widen, a shy smile appears on her full lips before she takes another large sip of her drink.

"It's unlikely to find the same person thrice in the tube! I told my friend Laura, it felt like a glitch in the matrix." She answers and he lets out an amused laugh.

"For the record, I wasn't following you, at all..."

"I know, you just had to take the same line I did and it was a happy coincidence," she interrupts him, the new song gathers a few more dancers and Harry wonders if she will ask him to dance again, "although it would've made a great anecdote for my YouTube channel; story time, a famous musician follows me around the city possibly plotting my painful death." She joked as she gingerly flashed her hands before the two of them, as if presenting the latest play from the West End.

It was Harry's eyes turn to be wide and smack his hand into his forehead.

"You have a YouTube channel?" His interest was genuine and Alma made herself more comfortable on the sofa, before proceeding to fill him in about what that was about, just videos about her 'sort of interviewing remarkable people' or so she claimed.

It was something that started as a class project back when she was seventeen, trying to get good grades to win a scholarship and study abroad —none of those things happened. She kept doing it afterwards because it was too much fun, once she interviewed all her friends, she moved onto her family. "Believe me when I tell you, that I have more relatives than I should!" With a smile as big as hers, he sighed before breathing 'lucky' as his heart sped and she continued.

Restaurant owners, chefs, firefighters, barristers, doctors, accountants, waitresses, sexual workers, sex shop employees, bankers, homeless people, hairdressers and apparently every person from her home country had been on the informal interview series. Harry was impressed with the whole concept and her.

"I sort of abandoned it a little when I moved here last year, it was crazy busy the first couple of months and the whole bureaucracy... and I was a little homesick to be honest." For the first time in the night, her voice is thinner, he has to lean in a few inches to hear better, "I miss my parents, my cousins, my aunt, my grandparents. But this is something I've wanted for the longest time you know?" Her eyes bore into his, allowing him to see the vulnerability swimming in them, "I've never felt like an outsider here, never got lost in the tube, took the wrong bus or anything like that. Isn't it weird?" Harry smiled at the sentiment, thoughts of his latest trip to Japan flashing before him.

"No, I think it's marvellous that you feel that way." He cannot be real, is the only thing running through her mind like a restless hamster in its wheel.

Harry and Alma talked about everything they didn’t have in common, despite the brief interruptions to do some shots and drink champagne with the birthday boy. Their families were discussed, their favourite things to do in the summer. Alma even asked him how was work going, as if she didn’t know that he was one of th world’s most successful artists. Harry was thrilled to joke through their drinks and the girl wasn't shy to ask him for a couple more dances. None of them noticed the partying dying around them, it was only after Fernando said his goodbyes to his laughing sister, that they noticed how late/early it actually was.

Before they knew it, golden hues streamed through the window behind them as Freddie walked out of his room and offered them coffee.

"I'm never drinking straight vodka again," Freddie mumbled to himself after finishing his cup of coffee.

"At least it wasn't Vodquila like last time," Alma's words make him groan but agree. "I should go now, need a shower and a healthy breakfast."

After Harry also admitted he needed to be on his way, with all their belongings gathered and after saying goodbye to a very ill Freddie, neither Harry or Alma looked forward to their imminent separation. He had spent hours hearing how busy she is, when not recording content, she was working at Wenzel's and teaching Spanish to her neighbour's daughter on the weekends. Still, he was determined to meet with her again.

As soon as they started moving down the street, Harry noticed the next one was where he had to turn right in order to go home. It wasn't a short walk but the most effective route for sure.

"So, the bus stop is that way," Alma nodded her head to the left, smirking knowingly as she stuffs her hands in her coat pockets.

"Of course," they had come to a rolling stop at the corner. Harry suddenly felt beyond nervous about asking the girl for her phone number. "Thank you, for keeping me company last night." It was amazing he wanted to add, but licked his lips quickly instead.

"You mean keeping you from catching up with all your friends," she corrected him.

Harry shakes his head and smiles, the dimples graciously adorning his cheeks, his racing heart giving him the last push needed to finally ask. "Do you think we could go, like for coffee... sometime?” With that she laughed, immediately memorising the sound of it, her loud cackle is one of the nicest things he has heard in awhile.

"Only if I can buy you something from the selection of pastries." Harry laughed loudly, completely relieved by her answer. She dug around her purse for a moment before taking out a pen and what seemed to be an old receipt, quickly scribbling down her number and handing it to him.

"I'll call you," he beamed, carefully placing the piece of paper in his wallet. He'd be an idiot to lose such a precious fragment of information.

"Looking forward to it," Alma smiled at him for one last time before she started walking to the opposite direction. "See you around Harry." His face was a bit puffy from not having slept properly, but she would be lying to say he didn’t look adorable at the same time.

He waved and watched her walked away, her sweet and tired morning smile seemed to be engraved into the musician's mind as he headed home.

The air was still a bit cold, but the heat was starting to rise and plague London for the rest of the day, the hot summer everyone's been yearning for was finally here, even Harry could feel it in his bones as he continued down his path. He was still highly enamoured by the amazing night he spent sharing a piece of himself with Alma. His feet felt heavy, were even burning a little, but it was nothing as he made his way through his home gate twenty minutes later.

He decided to get some toast and a cuppa for breakfast, his high spirits not faltering even one bit although he could feel the consequences from the all-nighter already with each yawn. After eating he decided to take a shower that got him ready for a well deserved sleep in his comfortable bed.

Waking up around six o'clock startles him at first, Harry is well rested now but a bit grumpy for the weird taste on his tongue, something usual after drinking beer. He scolds himself for not brushing his teeth earlier as he walks in his bathroom. The cool tiles against his bare feet wake him up a bit more. After some needed dental hygiene, Harry gets dressed to go out and pick up his sister for their weekly dinner. Hopefully he can convince her to stay in, that way he can go on and on about the events from the night before.

His feet still hurt, he can even feel a blister underneath his big toe. But it doesn't bother him, it's actually a nice reminder of the incredible things that miraculously happened. Harry knew that since Alma was related to Fernando, someone that was bound to be in his life for the next six months or so, there was a big chance they would've met at some point. But he'd rather think it was fate, some sort of good karma coming round, he stared at her contact on his phone, still charmed by the fact that she gave it to him on the back of a receipt. Ignoring that she only did it that way, because the thought of asking for his mobile to enter it herself, was a very bold move. And Alma wasn’t really that confident, not when his green eyes were boring into hers anyway.

"When are you gonna call her then?" Gemma's voice snaps him out of his daydream for the third time during their quiet dinner in her flat. "What is it? You've got that look."

"What look?" He asks before his sister frowns and pinches her bottom lip with her thumb and index finger. It's his nervous quirk, he sighs, "I don't know, I'm just so nervous." Without a valid reason, he knows the girl is so lovely, maybe that's why.

"You're afraid of fucking it up," she knows, Harry nods. "Well, you could tell her that, perhaps on a text—

"—I want to call her, texting her will make me feel a wanker." Gemma smiles at her little brother, he looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself but nonetheless excited. It was endearing how the first thing he told her after crossing her home's threshold was 'my life is officially a chick flick!' Before proceeding to explain with detail about the whole situation.

"What about a text that reads: hello, this is Harry please save my number so when I find the guts to call you, you don't think it's a telemarketing scam," Gemma might be joking and mocking him all at once, but has a point. A text so she also has his number, makes the situation more even, she can call him too. "Assuming she gave you a real phone number."

"What?" Harry is mortified.

"I'm kidding, you should've seen your face," his sister wanted to drag a bit more her joke, but the preoccupied look on his face stopped her. Gemma couldn't wait to tell their mum, knowing that she would be just as absorbed. "There's nothing wrong with showing interest right away. If you want this to be honest and genuine, set an example." She finished before taking the last bite of pizza.

Harry knew that to be true, but now he was left wondering if it was the right time for him. Had he really left behind all the ghosts and baggage from his past? Or was he still carrying them in the new tattoos of his knees?

Despite his sister's encouraging words about how nothing could go wrong this early with Alma, he couldn't help but wonder if his still grieving heart was ready.

He takes his time walking back home, not caring if it was a really long one, he was aware of the curious eyes once he reached the Southbank but paid no attention to them. He welcomed the chill breeze, hoping for it to cool his boiling mind. Remembering the last time he walked along the river arms around his former flame, her laughter still ringing in his ears, her tender kisses in his knuckles, her delicious scent flying away with the airstream into London's sunshine.

Missing someone is not wrong, Harry reminds himself.

There's no point going down the rabbit hole of what ifs about their relationship. Harry can admit his mistakes, no matter how hard it comes to him, he can also apologise wholeheartedly. He did all those things already, months ago. Which is why he was able to keep her as a friend, not a close one, more like an acquaintance. And she's happy, he can see that, knows it.

Why does he feel like he's still drowning? He's already been pulled from the vast ocean of hers. Harry groans, struggles to open his gate, his good spirits from this morning nowhere to be found.

He doesn't know if it's the memory of her, the fear of loneliness, coincidence and laziness, or a bad habit? But he doesn't text the girl with warm brown eyes, instead he plays the voicemail that sometimes haunts his nightmares, on repeat, for the rest of the night.

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