#man. at least my cats are comfy enough with me to be up front w their desires | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kamino-ink · 6 years

Text

Wounds | Lee Minho

✧ Genre: Soulmate!au, floof, lowkey suggestive, uhh lemme get some anGst

✧ Summary: You’ve always been aware that Lee Minho was your soulmate, ever since you were kids - but you were too naïve about the world and figured waiting to tell him would be a better idea. Everything starts to go downhill when he says he thinks the system is utter bullshit.

✧ Word Count: 3.7k

✧ Want to read other parts of this series? Check out my masterlist!

✧

The whole entire soulmate system was complete and utter bullshit. What kind of world were people to live in where you couldn’t choose who to love, rather the universe meticulously wrote it down in fine ink since the way you were born - nobody got a real choice. Obnoxious soulmate bonds tended to become true nuisances to most in their day to day lives, leaving little room for them to think about anything else, really. Why wait for that one person who could literally be anywhere on the fucking planet when you could find someone who you choose to fall in love with and cherish till the end of your days?

Those were the exact words that poured out between Lee Minho’s pink lips, effectively sucking the life out of you the second he started to curse the very existence of soulmates yet again.

“Dude, who put a stick up your ass this morning?” Changbin snorted from across the living room, bringing his glass of coke up to his lips and taking a long, drawn out sip with a quirked eyebrow.

You felt your world - no, your entire universe start to crumble around your very being, sat upon the couch just inches away from brushing against the resilient man’s arms that he’d sourly crossed over his chest.

“Come on Changbin, not everyone is as lucky as the rest of you fucks. For all I know my soulmate could be halfway across the world in another country. The possibility of us actually running into each other is zero to none.”

“That makes it all the more exhilarating. Imagine finally meeting the person you are literally destined to be with on like, a vacation in Paris or some shit. Now that is some quality young adult romance material.”

“Vacationing in Paris - yeah, with what fucking money?” Minho retorts sharply, dramatically waving his arms around to gesture all around his small studio apartment.

“You’re so pessimistic, Lee. Any man or woman would be attracted to a nurse-”

“Oh sure, because my paycheck is so good that I have to live in a fuckass apartment at my age - how dreamy.”

Sure, Minho liked to talk shit about his studio apartment, and you couldn’t really blame him half of the time since his home was super small compared to his friends’ places; not to mention he lived right beside an apartment housing a couple that never stopped going at it. Whatever noise complaints he had were dismissed with a lazy shrug, meaning the poor guy had to stuff his ears in the dead of night just to get some decent sleep.

But then again, he had turned the small living space into something quite nice and, obviously, livable. The walls were painted a plain white, but Minho has spiced up the place by sticking some brick wallpaper onto a couple of the walls, as well as hanging up cute little houseplants here and there, scattered about the apartment. He also had two cats who got their fur everywhere.

Not that you were complaining.

“Y/N agrees with me, right?” Minho snaps at Changbin, quickly turning all of his attention just onto you within seconds. “I mean you don’t even know what your connection to your soulmate is.”

“N-nope, still don’t know for sure. Could be anything for all I know.” You replied, your voice shaking slightly out of sheer nervousness and hurt. Minho hadn’t meant to intentionally hurt your feelings, and especially not in such a crude manner, but you couldn’t help the tugging at your heartstrings with his blunt statements.

“See? That’s my girl, always got my back.” The man coos playfully as he leans into your side, slinging an arm loosely over your shoulders from behind to pull your closer to him. “We don’t need that stupid soulmate shit, yeah? I’ll find a great man or woman to marry and you’ll do the same. We can do some cheesy stuff and go on double dates!”

You find yourself falling into a daze while weakly nodding in fake agreement with your friend, shifting your gaze so you wouldn’t have to feel the pain of making eye contact with him. While Changbin quickly snaps back at the brunette, initiating yet another argument between them with you quite literally stuck in the middle of it all, you take a moment to look down at the sleeve of your hoodie on your left arm. The material has ridden up just enough for someone to possibly spot the gauze lining your skin, but you discretely slide the sleeve down your arm again before either of the two arguing men can notice.

Minho, on the other hand, lets his bandaged wound be seen by the whole world, still donning his short-sleeved pajamas from the night before. It is in the exact same spot your wound was, decorating the skin of your left arm just under your marginally scraped elbow.

The other day you’d been mindlessly wandering around the heart of the city after meeting up with Minho for a diner date - well it technically wasn’t labeled as a date, but it still felt like one; and that was real enough for you to accept, at least. In the midst of your otherwise peaceful walk back home, two younger girls had skated by on the already narrow sidewalk, one of them accidently shoving you to the ground in an attempt to catch up to her friend who’d managed to speed ahead of her. The worst of the impact had been on your elbow and left arm, since you’d immediately tried to lessen the pain of the fall by landing on that spot - course you underestimated the roughness of the cement, leaving you with an ugly spot of missing skin and a bloodied elbow.

And of course Minho had to go through the same exact pain as you, since that was essentially your connection - or, lack for a better term, your soulmate bond. Whenever one of you injured yourself, whether it be a teensy papercut or a scrape on your leg, the other person got the same exact injury on their body in the very same place.

“- but you still know what your soulmate connection is, dumbass! Your other half is out there somewhere, fuck they’re probably wondering where the hell you are by now!”

“Well fuck them, alright!” The man beside you boomed loudly, having clearly lost any and all patience with your other friend across the room. “I get to choose who I fall in love with, and they’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it. In fact, I have a date on Thursday with a person who is not my soulmate, and she is a fantastic girl who also thinks this whole system is a bunch of horse-shit!”

That was the last straw.

You abruptly stand up from the plush gray couch, tossing Minho’s arm off of your shoulders and onto the comfy material in a rush of mixed emotions. Their voices that had been so relentless in their harsh jabs at one another suddenly converged into one stunning harmony, calling out to you in worry; one more so with confusion, the other oddly knowing. Bearing no other utterance of a goodbye, you slip on your shoes sat by the front door and hurry out of the cozy home, quietly shutting the door behind your still retreating figure.

“W-why did Y/N run out like that? Did... did I say something?”

Changbin sighed softly to himself, staring sympathetically at the empty spot on the couch next to the concerned nurse.

“She really has faith in this stuff, Minho, you should know that by now. Out of all of us, I’m pretty sure she’s the one most looking forward to being with her soulmate one day.”

“Jisung for the last time, I do not want to go to the fucking party.”

“Aww come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“No.”

“... fine, but that means you’re letting me spend the night and picking out movies to watch.”

See, that was why you liked Han Jisung so much; while the kid liked to go out and party until the sun rose above the hillside, he never tried to force you into attending one with him - he respected how you preferred to stay home on Saturdays, taking the day off to simply relax in the mindless comfort of your own home.

“Tell you what, we’ll go to the damn party-”

“Yes!”

“- but afterwards you’re paying for pizza and friend chicken. Deal?”

You also knew how much Jisung liked for you two to actually be together and hang out like the best friends you were. He often abandoned his plans just for you, so you figured doing the same for him couldn’t hurt too much.

“Deal!”

Needless to say, you had been incredibly wrong, straying so far from the truth that when it finally hit you like a ton of bricks, you quite nearly puked on the spot.

The party Jisung had managed to drag you to was a simple high school one, which meant there were underaged teenagers drinking their night away and making out with upperclassmen that would graduate in just a few months time, promptly leaving the hopeful boys and girls in their trail of dust. You weren’t at all similar to them when you were their age, instead choosing to pine after one of your male best friends that just so happened to be your soulmate - the person fate destined you to be with for the rest of your life.

Said soulmate was in the middle of shoving his sinful tongue down another woman’s throat, husky noises bubbling from between his plump, slightly bruised lips when you and the blonde senior had stumbled into a vacant bedroom to, you know, raid the shelves of video games and duke it out while the other teens fucked around downstairs.

“Minho?” His name slips past your parted lips, though it doesn’t even come close to catching his attention, nor the woman’s. Only moments ago you’d been a giggling mess, stumbling up the wooden stairs with a bubbly Jisung in excitement since he had overheard that the host let one of the guest rooms upstairs be open for anyone who felt uncomfortable or wanted to just hang out during the mess that was most certainly a stereotypical high school bash.

But now... now you can feel your already frail heart starting to shatter like glass inside your chest. Because you fucking blew it. You chose not to tell the man that you were his soulmate, and that he was yours - that you were in love with him.

Because he always spewed nonsense about disliking the entire system since you were kids, you were inclined not to speak of your bond with him at the tender ages you were at back then - besides, you were still mere children that screamed cooties when someone of the opposite gender was even affectionate towards another. Surely his opinions would diverge in the future.

Except, they never did; in anything he became even more upfront with his thoughts on the ideals of fate as time flew by, cursing and challenging the universe with every other breath he took. While his blunt words had always left a lingering sense of regret in the back of your mind, nothing could have possibly prepared you for the condemning feeling of heartbreak that rolled over your frozen figure in the doorway of the guest room.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

You can just barely make out Jisung’s snort of disapproval and disgust at the sight before the both of you, and for a fleeting moment you watch as the two moaning adults hurriedly pull back from one another’s bodies as if the other was burning like a candlestick.

“A-ah shit - um, guys, this is Ginny. She’s the girl I went out with on Thursday.” The breathless man explains, offering an awkward smile that compliments his even more embarrassed, flushing cheeks while his brown gaze darts between his two friends and his date. There’s a bit of a tent in his pants and there’s crimson lipstick smeared across his lips and neck. If you two hadn’t accidently walked in, then they would’ve taken another step further.

The mere thought of Minho, the man you had so helplessly fallen in love with, having sex with another person crushed your soul. He was his own person, yes, but you felt the selfish urge to claim him as your own because fate wrote it so. Fate destined you two to join in a loving union, and you had fallen into its deadly trap - perhaps that was why it hurt so much more than it would have, had you not fallen in love with your best friend.

So like any logical person who happened to be foolishly in love with their best friend and also happened to coincidently walk in on said best friend having a rather heated make out session with another wonderful human being, you turned tail and shot down the stairs of the house, ignoring Jisung’s call of confusion and Minho’s stunned shout for you to come back.

Yeah, as if any logical person would walk right back into the very room their best friend was so about to have sex in - what was he thinking?

“Y-Y/N, wait up!”

What was he thinking?

“Come on baby, slow down!”

What were you thinking?

“What do you want, Minho?”

Why had you chosen to fall in love with the one man that didn’t believe in soulmates?

“I - fuck, I’m sorry you had to see... that.” He goes to apologize breathlessly, as if he hadn’t just tore your heart out of your chest and stomped on it repeatedly.

“So am I.” Is all you can say in response, too afraid that any other words you might utter would seal your fate and his own; one of likely rejection or awkward silences between two people - one of which was in love with the other, the second friend only seeing the other as just that, a friend.

His bruised lips part to speak again, but you decide that you really need to split before he can unknowingly cause a mental breakdown in your head. With a swift turn on the heels of your feet, you face the other direction and begin to walk through the semi-crowded kitchen, the tips of your fingers gliding across the countertops to help steer you away from the center of the drunk crowd of teenagers.

Without warning a sharp, searing pain runs up your veins all the way to the nerves of your hand grazing the gray countertops - it takes all of your self control not to let out a yelp of pain, although a weak, befuddled whimper does escape your lips in the heat of the moment.

“Ow - what the fuck?” Minho hissed in unison with your whimper of utter pain, having started to follow close behind you in the sea of teens hovering in the already cramped kitchen area. “The fuck just cut my fingers-? Wait, are you bleeding?”

You’d been in the middle of raising your bloodied fingers to your eyes to investigate the new wounds, little cuts from a stray knife carelessly splayed on the countertop stretching across three of your five fingers when Minho directed his attention towards you downcast gaze and red fingertips.

He glanced to your wounds, and then his own.

He hadn’t been using the countertop as a guide like you had been, as his arms had been pressed firmly against his sides to prevent himself from brushing against the other partygoers.

“Is - is this your connection, Y/N?”

“Do you mean our connection, Minho? Or should I go ask the pretty redhead in the bedroom if her bond is where she can suddenly have injuries appear on her body because her clumsy soulmate never stops getting hurt?” You’re not quite sure why you’re so furious with the man, and you know that by tomorrow morning you’ll be sending him various messages of apologizes for your rash, hurtful jabs. You knew it wasn’t right, blaming him of all people - but it hurt.

“Our... connection?” He fumbles on his words, his eyes now searching yours for undying consolation - and he finds it, flashing across your now teary eyes as you stare at him.

You can recall when and where you figured out Lee Minho was your soulmate. The both of you lived in a rural town not too far from the heart of the bustling city, growing up around cattle and barrels of yellow hay rather than flashing lights and nights of blaring music in the clubs across the streets. Naturally the two of you had grown close, labelling each other as the other’s “super-duper-bestest-friend” by the ripe age of six.

Neither of you knew too much about soulmates and all that mumbo-jumbo the older kids and adults talked about pretty much 24/7, choosing to block their sweet confessions of love and endearment to one another by running around the park closest to your houses or going for a dip in the pond behind your fence.

That particular day, though, Minho had dragged you to the quaint pond filled with cute orange fish the size of your pinkies and green frogs that croaked well into the late hours of the night. He wanted to try out “fishing” by catching the orange fish with his bare hands, that of course being the first mistake that day.

You chose to simply watch the adorable black haired boy splashing away in the chilly water of the lone pond, your bottom sat upon a rounded stone a couple feet away; perhaps half an hour had passed when suddenly you felt an odd stinging sensation on the palm of your right hand, and at the same exact time you recalled hearing Minho let out a shriek of pain as he slipped his right hand out of the pond to cradle it into his chest.

But even after finding out that it was your special bond with Minho, your soulmate, you kept your connection secret all the way until now by simply stating that you weren’t sure what your bond was. You wanted to see if you could convince Minho to see that fate was written for a reason, though you never forced your ideals upon him no matter how much it stung to hear him scrutinize the deep bond between the two of you - not that he had known, obviously.

“Baby - I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”

You cut off his apologies with a shake of your head, backing away while you now cradle your bloodied hand into your chest. “Nothing would have changed, Minho. I should have realized that so much sooner.”

And then you walk away, leaving behind your soulmate to collect his thoughts.

Sunday mornings were usually a state of calm serenity for you, since you didn’t have any classes or shifts at work. They were days that resembled healing in your eyes, especially since you really needed some good time alone after the events of the night before.

You wanted to scream and cry into a pillow all day long, in all honesty.

You’re still lying alone in bed, tucked underneath the warm layer of a fuzzy brown blanket you’d been gifted last Christmas wrapped around your body like a sushi roll when you hear the unmistakable sound of your doorbell ringing. You know damn well who it is and why they’re at your doorstep - but you didn't feel ready to face them and own up to your mistakes and critical words.

Somehow you get yourself to roll out of bed, not bothering to look all too presentable as you slowly saunter all the way to the front door where he is certain to be waiting anxiously.

I can do this, I can do this, I can-

“-Before you shut the door on me, please hear me out,” Minho pleads out to you in a rush of breath, his hands behind his back as he takes your silence into consideration, “okay I think that’s the go-ahead... Y/N, I still think people should be given the chance to fall in love with whoever they choose to,”

Did he really need to remind you?

“but I also think I like you - scratch that, I know I like you more than as a friend. I never tried to make a move on you because our views differed so greatly, and I know it was wrong of me to try and make you see my point of view in the middle of an argument. You always seemed so excited about the prospect of being with your soulmate, which I guess is technically me from what I understand, so I backed off.” He admits, occasionally having to force himself to slow down and say each word carefully so he wouldn’t be too overbearing.

“Minho - you don’t need to apologize, I do. I should have told you sooner that I knew.” You breathe out softly, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he vehemently shakes his head in disagreement.

“Lets just stop right there, because we could keep apologizing to each other for days and I don’t think these poor things will live that long without fresh water.”

“What-?”

“Ta-da! Flowers for the lovely light of my life,” he hums cheerfully, bringing out a small but beautiful bouquet of flowers from behind his back to told them out in front of his face, peeking out form behind them with red cheeks and a nervous smile, “I um, I hope this isn’t too cheesy. I’m kinda hoping that you might give me a chance and go on a date with me-”

“Of course I will, cheesehead - here, let me put these in a vase and we can discuss where we’ll be going on our date.”

✧

#skzwriters #stray kids #stray kids au #stray kids soulmate au #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #lee minho #Minho soulmate au #Minho imagine #Minho scenario #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

932 notes · View notes

girlwsoftsound · 6 years

Text

The Sweater || Matty Healy Oneshot

Word Count: 2,787 Summary: AU where you and Matty work at an office and you get on Matty for wearing sweaters all the time. Author’s Note: I don’t even know where this idea came from other than my love for being able to wear sweaters again outside. Slight Gatty mention in this, so that’s cute. Be sure to throw in a like or comment if you liked it! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

He walks into the office every day like he owns the world.

Everyone at the office knows him from the sound of his boots when he arrives. He is a new guy, at least from your perspective. Being only a month into his work, he still is fairly recent in the grand scheme of your work. This office, your home for eight hours a day, Monday through Friday, has been your home for months. He is a flash in the pan, a bright and shiny new object that will walk in and capture everyone’s attention. His name is Matty, not Matthew as he made sure to make known in the office, and he is ruining your life.

Black curls pulled back, round-rimmed glasses, and a fluffy sweater - it is his signature dress. You would know, given your room’s position towards the front of the office. You have to see it every day whether you like it or not, because Matty likes to linger around your specific room. Why, you are not sure - perhaps it is due to the water cooler’s placement only a few feet away, or the fact the kitchen is a few rooms down. All you know is that he exists there far more than you would care for him to, sweaters and all, looking like he owns the place he has only known for a month.

Speaking of sweaters, you hate his sweaters. Okay, you do not hate them per say - they’ve never done anything to harm or annoy you intentionally. They’re just sweaters. It’s more the fact that the person wearing them always wears them, regardless of the actual temperature outside. It’s not like the office is cold, either. Sometimes, it’s so hot you have to open up a window to let in the cool air from outside. How he can live with himself and not suffer, you are unsure.

After the first week of it, you thought he was simply wearing them for comfort. Maybe he worked at a place that made sweaters before this, or recently lost a family member who wore sweaters a lot, and wearing them made him feel comfortable in this new work environment. By the second week however, your thoughts changed. You decided that this move, wild as it was, was a call for attention. It was equal to his requirements about saying his name - he wanted to stand out, and he wished to ensure that through those damn sweaters.

The frustrating aspect about his little cry for attention is how well it has worked for him. Cat, a girl who works in sales a few rooms down, will make sure to comment every day about how ‘stylish’ or ‘comfy’ Matty looks. Peter, chief editor of the magazine you all work for, makes sure to say ‘nice outfit’ whenever he can to Matty’s benefit. Helen in accounting and finance brings him shopping when she can. It frustrates you, and it frustrates you even more knowing that he’s successfully gained your attention, too.

Why else would you be so obsessed over him? He has you right where he wants you. The only difference between you and the rest of your office is the fact that you have not given into him yet. You never make comments, you never invite him anywhere, and you most certainly do not acknowledge him when he sits by your office, messing around on his phone or gazing out the windows by the door. It sounds cruel, and you feel guilty occasionally, but you are far from willing to give in. Annoying sweater boy with the stand-out name will not get your attention that easy. This is war, whether he knows it or not.

“{Y/N}?”

Your eyes fly up from your desk Friday afternoon to find the enemy peering around your doorframe. He’s wearing a big, red sweater today with flowers smattered across the front and on his wrists today. His hair is tied up like usual, the only difference in his appearance being the lack of glasses perched on his nose. You suppose he either forgot them at home or tried out contacts. Clearing your throat, you leaned back in your chair and motioned for him to come in. He walks forward and sits in the chair opposite you, and you realize you never have noticed how small of a man he really is - probably due to his large sweaters. He melts into the seat as if it were three times too large. You try to remain unfazed.

“Can I be frank with you about something?”

Chewing on your lip, you shrug. “Shoot.”

“I think, and tell me if I’m wrong,” he says, “that you do not like me. W-Which is fine by the way, no one is entitled to be liked by anyone and everyone and certainly I am no exception, but I’m confused. Have I done anything to make you think of me negatively, or done something to offend you? I want to know so that I can stop. You’re one of the only people here I never talk to, and I want that to change.”

You sigh and grab a pencil to fiddle with as you contemplate which way to go about this. Picking out a bright green one from its container on your desk, you decide that the best way is to lay everything out just as frankly as Matty did. He likes honesty it seems, so who are you to lie to him?

“All you wear is sweaters,” you begin, causing his eyes to widen a bit, “and I mean like…that’s it. You always do, and it confuses me because who the hell can do that every day and not hate themselves when it gets hot or they run out of stuff to wear? Not to mention, it’s such an obvious grab for attention. And you always stand right by my office without saying a word to me and it’s like…choose to do something! Say hi or get lunch or walk outside or something! Don’t just stand here like you don’t obviously have work you could be doing!”

Okay, perhaps honesty was not exactly the best way for you to go about this.

Matty’s face contorts to reveal a billion emotions you did not think he was capable of. Most poignant of these emotions is self-loathing, which you can recognize from a mile away as it crosses his features. You can practically feel his gut churning and sinking as it realizes your words and digests them, and immediately you want to slap yourself for being so blunt and borderline rude. You open your mouth to backtrack, making some quick apology just to ensure he doesn’t cry, but Matty beats you to the chase. He stands, nods as if to accept your terms of his annoying behavior, and leaves. The door gently shutting behind him snaps your heart in two.

You fucked up.

Oddly enough, Matty doesn’t show up on Monday. When you inquire around the office to see if anyone knows why, everyone seems to tell different stories. He’s sick, he’s traveling, he’s got an appointment - none of it makes sense, but all of it makes you feel sick. What if he did something bad because of how you spoke to him? What if he feels scared to go to work because of how he looks? You hope your mind is simply going mad with guilt, but in your gut you can tell something is definitely up. It takes you all night to get to sleep, and when you do, you have nightmares about the scenario.

You really fucked up.

Tuesday comes, and your eyes are glued to the front door in anticipation of Matty’s arrival. Thirty minutes after nine, he thankfully does arrive. However, something is wrong about him in a way that leaves you with an unsettling feeling. Matty is not wearing a sweater. He’s wearing a plain white button-up shirt, with black slacks and black shoes. His hair is cut shorter and gelled back to suppress his curls, and his glasses are nowhere to be found.

He looks normal.

You hate it.

It’s not ugly - actually, Matty looks quite dashing in his new fashion. It’s not him, though. That fact, coupled with the knowledge that it is in direct correlation to your words, makes you feel sick.

“Hey Matty,” you say as he passes by your room with a shaky voice, a product of guilt. He looks up, offers a half-assed smile, and gives a singular wave.

“Hello {Y/N}.”

He leaves before you can say more, walking down the hall to his room in complete silence. No one compliments him today, you realize. Everyone’s quiet during his trip, either keeping their comments to themselves or not approving of the change. It’s deafening, and you feel like throwing up. You nearly do when you realize by the end of the day that he completely avoided your side of the office. When he passes by your office to leave without a word, you want to cry.

A few weeks later, not much has changed. Matty still is wearing his mundane clothing, only changing up the color of his shirts between the acceptable combo of maroon, navy blue, white, and black. He still avoids you, and it is not clear he ever will speak to you again. When he does pass by, he looks sadder. At this rate, him sending in a resignation letter would not surprise anyone.

An email goes out for Secret Santa around the time you start to feel the guilt eating away at your sanity. It’s sent by Alisha, the HR rep. She went back a ways with you as a college friend, and she always told you that if you ever needed anything, she would gladly help. Little did Alisha know how useful that promise would be to you. Closing out the email, you run down the hall to her office. Shutting the door, you sit in the seat in front of her without allowing her time to speak.

“Don’t ask me why, but I need you to ensure that I am Matty’s Secret Santa.”

Raising a brow, Alisha types a few things into her computer. She gazes at you soon after curiously. “Why did you want me to do that, again?”

“It’s bad and complicated and I do not have the time to explain it all,” you say hurriedly, “but it needed to be done. Just trust me, okay? It’s for a good reason.”

“…Even though it was bad?”

“Don’t mind that,” you reply, “just make sure it’s a thing, okay?”

Alisha nods, and with that you find yourself running out her door and back to your desk, quickly awaking your computer. You type in the first website you can think of to get you what you want, and with that you are off. No one hears from you the rest of the day. When Matty passes by your room, the guilt is a little less in your heart. You will make him happy again - you are determined to see his smiling face again.

Two weeks later, you find yourself crammed into the conference room with everyone at the company. All around you, you see your coworkers dressed up in some sort of Christmas-inspired outfit. Everyone has something to celebrate the holiday except for Matty. Matty, sitting in the corner keeping to himself, looks like Ebenezer Scrooge had infiltrated his heart. His body language screams upset, and his eyes barely meet anyone else’s as if to ward off anyone even thinking about attempting conversation with him. You bite your lip and, clutching the package in your hand, hope that your gift will brighten his day considerably.

All presents are put into the middle of the conference room’s table. Even Matty shoves a small gift into the pile, a small red box with a green bow on top. It’s quaint and about the most Christmasy thing about him. When all gifts are set down, Alisha goes and starts to distribute them. To your delight, you get your gift before Matty gets his. Upon opening it, you find a beautiful charm bracelet, with dogs and coffee and Christmas charms dangling from it. The gift is wonderful, heartfelt, and exactly something Alisha would get you. You make eye contact with her and mouth ‘thank you’, making her grin and wink back before reaching for your gift to Matty, stopping your heart momentarily. He takes the box and looks rather surprised at how big it is. Ripping open the silver paper dotted with Christmas trees, he opens the top of the box and gasps audibly.

Sitting in the box is a gorgeous black sweater with red roses all across the front. Matty brings a hand to his mouth as he picks up the fabric and feels it beneath his fingers, its soft texture feeling like home. You watch in awe as his eyes tear up. He looks around the room, begging to find whoever gave him the gift, only to meet your eyes. Smiling bashfully, you mouth to him ‘check the card’ and point to the box. Mind spinning, he reaches into the box and pulls out from under the sweater a little green card. Opening it, he reads.

“Matty, I’m sorry for all I said to you. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you for being unique and yourself. It was far too rude of me, even with you asking for a frank answer. Nothing hurts more than for me to see you betray the person you are deep down and feel awful for it. Please go back to the happy guy I remember seeing loitering outside my office while wearing the most vibrant clothing I’ve ever seen. You deserve to be happy. Merry Christmas - Your Secret Santa xx”

Picking his head up, Matty sets aside his box and goes over to you, enveloping you into a hug that nearly knocks you over. You hug him back and giggle, rubbing his back. He asks you to join him outside real quick, and you follow, slipping your bracelet on your wrist. He pulls his sweater on over his shirt as you both leave the room, already looking more like himself than before. You look him over and smile.

“I knew that would look good on you. Black’s your color, I think.”

“This is the nicest gift I’ve ever gotten,” he says, genuinely gracious. “I…I tried to follow what you told me and it’s been such a weight on my shoulder. Where I used to work, they got on my case for the same thing. They also called me loads of names because they thought I’m gay, which…well, I like both guys and girls and currently have a thing with this bloke named George who gets me all of my sweaters so I have no idea what I am, but that’s beyond the point. The point is, I thought I was going to get fired again because of how I dress. I got so worried. I’m just…I’m really thankful that you’ve given me this. I don’t know, I guess it shows me that it’s…okay. You know?”

You nod. “Matty, I would never judge you for that. Promise. It was just me being annoying and bored and wrong. I’m really just glad to see you happy again. And, if I’m being honest, I’m really jealous you have someone to buy you all of those sweaters. They’re always so elaborate. I spent an arm and a leg trying to get you this one.”

Matty chuckles, rubbing his arm and the fuzzy material on it fondly. “George takes good care of me. He thinks I look soft and happy in them, so he buys me them a lot. He’s a good guy.”

“How about,” you say, “I take you two out for lunch one day? Before the holiday comes around, my treat. I want to make up for everything and figure out more about how he finds these sweaters. I checked five websites for a good one - five!”

“You don’t have to,” Matty says with a smile, “but that would be lovely. I’ll bring it up to him later. Thank you, {Y/N}.”

You smile back. “Of course, Matty. Come by my office any time.”

“Will do.”

With one final hug, the two of you make your way into the office and head to your respective rooms. When you sit down on your chair and look at your charm bracelet, you feel happy. It is the start of a new era. With Matty happy and himself again, you can contently go into it with a happy heart and warm spirits.

#matty healy #matty healy preference #matty healy fic #matthew healy imagine #gatty #the 1975 #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 preference #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 oneshot #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #mattyxreader #oneshot #matty healy oneshot #matty healy writing #the 1975 writing #The Sweater

105 notes · View notes

sommertagshimmelblau · 7 years

Text

Speak now

A/N: This is the second part of my Sonny Carisi x reader fic. Read part 1 here. I wanna thank @ghostofachancewithyou and @portal-cat for their support. Without them I wouldn’t have written a single word of this. I’m sorry if there are any errors. I tried my best. T/W: mentions of assault and violence and a lot angst words: 2278

I had to spend another day at the hospital, until the doctors told me that I was well enough to go home. I might have been physically okay, but I didn’t feel fine at all. When I went home I kind of expected Sonny to be waiting for me or maybe a note on the kitchen table, but nothing. No Sonny. No note.

I came home to an empty apartment with an even emptier kitchen table. The only thing that was waiting for me was my black cat, meowing at me. “At least you’re here, cat,” I said while petting him, “Did you miss me?” I tossed my dufflebag in the corner. I felt awful, so I decided to take a shower in order to make me feel better.

The hot water helped me to wash off what had happened at the bar. I finally started to relax a little. After the long hot shower, I put on some comfy clothes and lied down on the couch, cuddled up with a blanket and my cat. He sensed my misery and tried to calm me by nudging me with his little head. I felt okay now and I could finally get some sleep. When I woke up, I saw that someone had left a voicemail on my phone.

“Hi, Y/N. This is Lieutenant Benson. I hope you’re doing fine. Please call me, we need your testimony about the other night. Have a nice day.”

For some stupid reason I started to cry immediately after listening to the message. Maybe it was the gravity of the situation sinking in, maybe it was that I wished to hear Sonny’s voice instead of Benson’s. It was all too much. After an eternity the tears finally started to dry, so I felt like I had enough strength to call Benson. I picked up the phone, dialed and waited.

“Benson. SVU.”

“Hello Miss Benson, it’s Y/N. You said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes. I’m glad you called. I hope, you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” I said, trying to sound optimistic.

“I’m happy to hear that. So, Y/N, what I wanted to talk to you about, is that we need your testimony. We need you to tell the ADA what happened at the bar,” explained Benson.

“Okay. Do I need to come to the precinct?”, I asked.

“Yes. It would be good, if you could come over today, if you feel well enough. Otherwise you -”

“I’m gonna come over today,” I interrupted her, “When shall I be there?”

“In about an hour. Great. See you. Bye,” she said and hung up.

Gathering all my strength, I got up, put some nice clothes and a little make-up on.

When I came to the precinct, Benson was already waiting for me.

“Hey, there you are,” she greeted me.

I smiled, but my eyes immediately searched the room for Sonny, who was nowhere to be found. There were only Amanda sitting at her desk and a man in a suit standing next to her. I didn’t know him. Benson and I walked to him and she introduced me to the man.

“Mr. Barba, this is Y/N, Carisi’s brave friend without whom we never would have been able to catch the perp.”

“ADA Rafael Barba,” said the man, introducing himself to me, “I’m ready for you to make a statement, are you ready?”

I nodded. Then we walked into Benson’s office. We sat down and Benson and Barba asked me to tell them everything I remembered. So I told them all I could recall. After half an hour the talk was over and I could leave the office. Mr. Barba would call me and tell me if and when I needed to testify on the day of the trial.

When I left the office I saw that Amanda was still sitting at her desk, so I decided to go talk to her.

“Hi Amanda.”

“Hey, how are you doing?”, she asked standing up and pulling me in for a hug.

“I’m okay. Can I ask you something? How is Sonny?”

She gave me a strange look.

“Didn’t he talk to you already?”, she asked.

I shook my head. “I haven’t heard from him in two days, since he left the hospital.”

“Okay. I’m gonna tell him that he should speak with you,” suggested Amanda, “He’s feeling awful for what happened to you. He blames himself, so maybe it takes a little more time for him to get back to you. But you know Carisi, he’ll come to you.”

I nodded and felt tears building in my eyes, when suddenly I felt a hand touching my shoulder.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said softly, “What are you doing here?”

I turned around to find Sonny standing in front of me in his navy blue coat. His hair wet from the rain outside. I must have looked baffled, because he shot me an irritated glance.

“I, um, I had to testify,” I stuttered still staring at him.

“Okay.” He crossed his arms in front of chest, looking at me with furrowed brow.

I tried to read his facial expression, but I couldn’t. Usually I could read him like an open book, but now I just couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling.

“Sonny,” I said and paused.

“You should go home now,” he told me, then he turned around and went to Benson’s office.

“That wasn’t weird at all,” muttered Amanda.

“I… I should leave,” I stated and turned around, heading out of the precinct.

On my way out I felt tears streaming down my face already. I felt so lost, the only person I wanted to talk to, needed to talk to, wouldn’t speak with me. I felt like screaming.

I went to the park though it was raining. While taking a stroll through the park, I couldn’t stop thinking about how messed up everything was now. Three days ago I didn’t even know that I was in love him. Now the thought of it made me feel so confused. Was this how people in love were supposed to feel? Confused, lost, sad, just dumb? I felt so stupid for not knowing I had these feelings for him sooner, but at least Sonny didn’t know either. Being in love didn’t feel like the movies at all. It actually sucked.

It must’ve been hours spent at the park. I lost track of time and it was already in the afternoon when I went home.

Strolling trough the busy streets, out of a sudden I felt uncomfortable. Turning around, I realized that someone was following me. I decided I must be hallucinating, that I was just a little paranoid after what happened two days ago. So I kept walking home. I was already in the hallway and right as I was searching my handbag for my buzzing mobile, somebody grabbed my neck and pushed me up against the wall.

“You thought you could set me up, huh?”, he spoke angrily.

I recognized the voice. It was the rapist that I had decoyed a few days ago.

“Let go of me!”, I yelled, but he just tightened his grip on my neck. I tried to fight back, but he was too strong.

“Let’s go to your place now,” he told me.

“No,” I said with clear voice.

“Oh yeah, we are. We are going to your place right now.”

He pulled a knife out of nowhere and held it to my neck.

“Let’s go or you’re dead.”

I thought about running, I thought about fighting, but I knew there was no use. So I led him upstairs. I felt so powerless, like there was nothing I could do. Like I had to let this happen.

I didn’t want all of this. I even wished he would’ve just slit my throat in the first place. I felt tears coming, but I suppressed them. I didn’t want him to think I was weak. When we were at my apartment door, I tried to grab my keys, but my hands were so shaky that I didn’t get them right away. I was too slow for him so he smashed my head against the wall.

“Open the fucking door now,” growled the man, pulling at my hair. It hurt so badly.

From the corner of my eye I saw Sonny coming down the hall. “Help me,” I mouthed. Sonny took a step back, behind the corner and pulled out his cellphone.

I tried to take my time opening the door, but I wasn’t fast enough for the assailant, so he ripped the keys out of my hand, unlocked the door and pushed me in. All I could think of in that moment was my little black cat. I hoped he wouldn’t get hurt. When we were standing in my living room, I turned around, so I could face him and get a look of the door, which Sonny managed to hold, before it closed entirely. He entred my apartment slowly, he made signs that I should be quiet and step away. I did as he told me then Sonny pulled his gun and yelled.

“NYPD!”

The assailant turned around, taking a step towards Sonny, pulling his knife and stabbing Sonny in the abdomen. Sonny broke down on the floor, bleeding.

“Sonny!”, I screamed.

The man ran out of the apartment. I knelt down next to Sonny. I was starting to panic.

“Sonny,” I cried, not knowing what to do. “Everything will be okay. You’ll be okay.”

I tried to convince myself that these words coming out of my mouth were true. Then I realized, I should call an ambulance. I took my phone and called 911.

“An ambulance will be here in 5 minutes. You’ll be okay then,” I told him, stroking his head. His blue eyes looked into mine and I could see the fear in his eyes. He had to be afraid of dying right here in my living room and I was afraid, too. I was so afraid the man I love would die, so I gripped his hand, hoping he would hold on to life just like I held on to his hand.

“Doll,” sighed Sonny, breathing heavily, “you alright?”

I laughed through the tears that were streaming down my face. “You just got stabbed and ask me if I’m alright?”

“He… he didn’t… hurt you, did he?”

I shook my head.

“No, you saved me,” I told him.

He smiled and his beautiful dimples appeared. I carressed his cheek with my thumb. How I loved those dimples. I decided it was time to tell him how I felt about him. This might be the last chance to tell him.

“Sonny, I-”

“Oh my god, Carisi, are you hurt?”

Lieutenant Benson came into my living room, looking terrified.

“He got stabbed trying to protect me,” I sobbed, keeping my eyes on Sonny, “The ambulance is on its way.”

I whispered to Sonny. “You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

Then the paramedics came and took Sonny.

It happened oh so fast and I found myself at the hospital, waiting for Sonny to get out of surgery. I sat in a waiting room filled with tense looking people waiting for the doctors, for their loved ones.

“Y/N, what happened? How is Sonny?”, asked Sonny’s sister Bella out of breath, running towords me.

I stood up, hugging her.

“Bella, Sonny was stabbed. He’s in surgery,” I sobbed.

“What? How did that happen?”

“He was protecting me. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” I broke down crying in her arms.

She held me close.

“I’m sure, it’s not your fault. That’s just Sonny, always wanting to protect people.”

She stroked my head, we comforted each other. We sat down and waited and waited and waited.

Then a doctor entered the room. “I’m looking for the family of Dominick Carisi.”

Bella jumped out of her chair.

“Yes, I’m his sister. How is he?”

The doctor stepped closer to us.

“He was hurt very badly, but we did our best. He’s still in a critical condition and we had to get him to intensive care.”

“Can we see him?”, asked Bella nervously.

“He isn’t awake yet. You can come back in the morning. He should be awake and stable by then.”

“Okay, thank you,” she said to the doctor, who nodded and left, then she turned to me. “I think, I’m heading home to Tommy and the kids. You should go home, too, honey. You look tired. At least I am tired.”

She looked at me and really did look tired.

“I, um, I’d rather stay here.” I told her.

I felt exhausted and guilty and anxious. I couldn’t just leave and go home where I was attacked, where Sonny nearly died.

Bella said goodbye, hugged me and whispered: “He’s lucky to have you.” Then she left.

I sank down onto the chair. The night lasted forever. I tried to stay awake, but I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, it was already 10am and Amanda was sitting next to me.

“Hey Y/N. How are you?,” she smiled.

I streched out on the chair, yawned. I felt awful as ever. My back hurt, but my heart hurt even more.

“I’m afraid.” I felt tears pricking in my eyes. “Amanda, I am so afraid. I thought he’s gonna die.”

She put her arm around me, stroking my shoulder.

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. He’s gonna be okay. You did nothing wrong. You called an ambulance. You saved his life.”

I started crying, sobbing, again. I had never felt this way before. I was so afraid. The fear of losing Sonny was too much. I just couldn’t cope.

“What if he dies? What if he dies because of me? I would have killed him,” I whispered. I would have killed the love of my life. I would have killed Sonny.

“Hi. You’re Dominick Carisi’s family, aren’t you?”, a nurse asked pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I am his partner,” said Amanda.

“Can I see him?”, I sobbed.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu

28 notes · View notes