#Idk how well it comes across but knuckles not only has his hat from the ova but also a vest with the same pattern as tikal's skirt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gangrenados · 3 years

Text

Color markers

Have you ever made a really self indulgent fic that it's almost embarrassing? Well here's mine, I just like to draw silly things in my skin idk it's artsy 🤷🏽‍♀️

Also I made the reader speak Spanish, why? Idk I just feel like it. Latina power papa, pura raza es lo que tu ves aqui

Fem!latina reader x Jason

PSA: Hispanic doesn't necessary mean latino, don't be a fool💖

Translation!

Ay mi amor = Oh my love

¿Seguro estas bien?= Are you sure you're okay?

Te quiero demasiado, es más, yo te amo mucho Jason Peter Todd. Yo no sé como, ¡pero dios mio lo que siento por ti es uf muchísimo! Mano yo no sé como explicartelo..." = I love you too much, in fact, I love you so much Jason Peter Todd. I don't know how, but my God what I feel for you is a lot! Dude I don't know how to explain it to you ... "

Te quiero doesn't have an English translation so yeah, weird.

Jason's head bounced lightly against the wooden headboard, making him grimace at the suddenly movement. The lack sleep was really getting into him or maybe it was the tranquility of the day of, he wasn't quite sure.

He shifted lightly, the pressure of your body making him take a sharp breath through his teeth." Jay, I'm sorry! Do you want something for the pain?" Your voice made him feel better somehow. God, he was so embarrassingly whipped.

"I'm fine, babe" he groaned as he fully sat up. Jason noticed the color marks resting all across the empty space your legs created by being apart. He frowned, realizing the colorful collage that adorned his right arms.

It didn't take much for you to notice his confusion, "You told me it was okay," you tilt your head to side as you grabbed his arms gently. Your eyes quickly narrowed over those colorful lines that rounded across his pale skin and mushed over the curvy areas.

" I don't know about you, but maybe I should become a tattoo artist one day."

Your heartbeat raced at the feeling of Jason's chuckles." Yeah, sure. I bet you would make a great job, princess" He joked, taking a more clear look over those doddles that went from little weird things like a cheese with a cowboy hat and Betty Bop cherries to more serious ones like eyes who dared to look somewhat realistic- as much as the skin allowed- and faces.

However, the one draw that caught all of his attention was a smiley face set a little bit lower on his wrist. The doddle was blushing with a shy smile plastered on it and a lot of pink and red hearts surrounding it. Underneath it 'te amo' was wrote in bright pink letters.

Jason didn't expect you to do that, in fact it has caught him of guard. Since the beginning of your relationship he always had the bad habit to question if you really liked or if you just decided to date him out of pity.

Jason didn't took your love for granted and that's why he felt that he had to work to earn it. That was the only way he could feel like he was worth your time and attention.

It might sound silly, but little acts like this always got the best of him.

He took away his arm from you, looking closer to this little drawing made the air caught on his throat. You did love him, after all you wouldn't have put that there if it wasn't true...right?

"Oh hey!" You gasped at the sudden hug of Jason. He rested his head in the crook of your shoulder, trying his best to not break.

"Ay mi amor," you put your hands on top of his, rubbing tiny circles in his bruises knuckles with your thumbs." ¿Seguro estas bien? I can make you some tea if want, just tell me..."

Those words just made his heart ache more." Why are you so nice to me?" That question passed slipped from his mouth without passing through his mind filter. Making him bite his cheek hard at the realization of his mistake.

Jason was really careful with what he says, especially when it comes to emotional stuff like this. He didn't wanted to give power to others to break his heart.

But now he has messed up and he just can't pretend he didn't said that stupid question.

You can't deny that that simple question made a quick flash of pain cross your body. It was hard to hear him said that, even after all of your attempts to show him how much he meant to you, how much you loved him.

You didn't get mad at him though, even if it hurts you knew the reason behind this was a series of unfortunate events that have left your dear boyfriend emotionally wounded.

Carefully you turned to him, breaking out of his grip and dropping some markers in the process. Jason's beautiful blue eyes looked at you with nothing but embarrassment, he didn't wanted you to look at him like this.

"Look, you're my boyfriend and I'll care about you no matter what, okay?" You said slowly, gracing his hands with lingering touches. Jason didn't move or tried to speak, he was as stiff as a stone.

"You're someone really, really important to me and I-" the words caught in your throat and it frustrated you that your mind had become blank due to this emotional moment." Te quiero demasiado, es más, yo te amo mucho Jason Peter Todd. Yo no sé como, ¡pero Dios mío lo que siento por ti es uf muchísimo! Mano yo no sé como explicartelo..."

You took a deep breath and continued."You're someone so strong and kind, I just can't explain this better and I'm sorry, but-"

Your speech was cut of by Jason's lips meeting yours, he wanted nothing more than kiss you. He needed it like air, as cheesy as it might sound.

Both of his hands were set at the back of your neck just to deepen the kiss and make you stay in place as long as you could.

Jason's mind rushed with a million thoughts before shutting down completely. This was okay, even when he felt like his heart would explode at any moment, nothing wrong could happen when he had you between his arms.

He hold onto those hopeful words to dear life in that brief moments of eager happiness between you two. Deep down he knew the angst and insecurity would take down his sudden found of calmness, but Jason wanted to push back those negative thoughts as much as he could.

Your fingers ran through his dark locks tenderly once the kiss was over; there was a little grin adorning your beautiful lips that made Jason confidence bust.

"I don't deserve a girlfriend like you"

" Maybe..." You shrugged off, wanting to play prideful just for a while." Nah baby, you sure do. I'm pretty good, right?"

"Yeah, you sure are." Jason said." I think you're getting a little bit cocky, don't you?"

"I guess I learn that from you." You pecked his lips before hopping off of the bed." I'm making you some tea, okay? I feel like that might help you..."

Tag list @bathroom-sand @aterriblelangblr @simpery @strangerthings14 @jyarumu0619 @kellieriddle96 @adarksoul098 @rosethegothamhistorynerd @duckmylife18 @panic-attheplace @malfoys-demigod @darkraven1983 @magicisabluewish @hamdehlesmis @lucy-roo @lovelyartemisa @missmaskedwriter @c0-77 @ginevraxrogers @imagines-fluff-yandere-smut @shadygoateeprincess @nervousfandom @ghost-bitch @silverw19 @thegirlwholovesbooksblog @hecatemacbeth7 @unknowntoanyone @mistalli @screechingghostbananafarm @waroncheer @lady-stirling @ghostly-ginger @greeknerd007 @la-femme-lupita @jasonsballsack @violettessuniverse @wondergal23 @dreamxcollide @thirstiestpotato @magicalbeanie @dreamingforthosewholost

#jason todd x latina!reader #latina!reader #Hispanic!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #jason todd

150 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Five: They Told Me That The End Is Near

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 3195

Author’s Note: I’m about to fuck yall all kinda of ways-- buckle in babies cause shit is GETTING FUCKED

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

Welcome to the final show Hope you're wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

She hates everything about labeling his days as “good” or “bad”-- this stupid emphasis on each thing that he does and how well he can perform it. The doctors will ask how he is, nearly expecting to be told something other than like he’s dying, and that always frustrates her beyond words. She can feel Hotch tense each time, looking to her in his desperate attempt to conjure a lie they will believe. “Good” or “bad” and he wants to say “okay” so that they don’t poke him more. So they don’t stand him up in the room and run their hands down his sides feeling for more swollen nodes and inclinations to infections or whatever other bad nonsense will rear its ugly head.

Mostly, she hates how there are “bad” days and there are days that aren’t gut-wrenchingly horrible but they aren’t “good” either.

Tuesday he’d smiled and sat for three hours with Reid. The genius turned on the sofa to face Hotch in the recliner, rocking himself gently as he spoke about anything and everything on his mind. Emily had watched them for a moment from the kitchen, shocked at the painless ease Hotch was sitting with. Enjoying something close to normalcy as Reid doesn’t look at Hotch and see the sickness overcoming his pale skin. Doesn’t see how tired he is or how weak. He’s just Hotch and they’re sitting in the living room talking about quantum mechanics and then attachment theory and diagnosing schizophrenia.

For three hours there is so much normalcy to their chaotic lives. For three hours there is “good” and for the remaining hours after Reid leaves there is something close to right in the middle. It’s fighting tooth and nail over some supplements he’s supposed to have in this meal replacement that tastes like chalk. She chases the fight with vodka and he locks himself in his office to drink the meal replacement in the sort of isolation that affords him endless frustration with no outward consequence. He ends up sitting in there and hoping she forgives him for being such a pain in the ass. He knows she probably will.

Then he does something stupid, something entirely brought on by impulse.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He can’t finish the job on his own, the clippers shaking painfully in his grip. His arm hurts and he can’t stand long enough to get the whole thing even. “It’s falling out, anyway.” He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he should be lucky he made it to this age without losing it. He tries not to think about it, mostly. To the way that his father used to smile at him and rustle it just to see the strands sit in all kinds of directions. How Haley would curl against him, arm over his shoulders, and brushing the strands as they talk.

But it’s just… hair. Mostly.

And “good” had melted into bad as Emily stood over him, running the clippers through his remaining hair. She’d cried and he had too but he had the free hands to wipe those tears before she could see them. She’s always the strong one, the least he can do is pretend for a moment.

Standing behind him, she can see every bone in his back. His pale skin stretched over each vertebra, like the hard pressure across knuckles clenched tightly. The plethora of scars in various stages of healing-- several from tubes and wires and tests and others from the childhood he refuses to speak of. A canvas with a story right there for her to see. There are no real secrets between them anymore.

The last bit of hair falls and she looks at what they’ve done. “You’ll have to wear a hat,” she tells him. She steps out of the tub, using his shoulder to balance herself. “I always thought you had a weird-shaped head but now I know.” There’s nothing abnormal about his head, she’s just thinking about how cold he always is. That at least now he’s got an excuse to wear a beanie inside and how he’ll look like a dork with the assortment of color and variations Garcia’s going to knit the second she catches wind of this.

She offers him her hands so that he can stand too and it’s a testament to their proximity that his shirtlessness isn’t strange. She’s watched his skin ease apart under the pressure of a scalpel. Sat beside him on the bathroom floor, head on his shoulder as the night moved on but they both knew he’d be back here all together too soon to get up. The scars are nothing to the vulnerability that he’s shown her.

Standing she… she sees the protrusion of his collarbone. Of the harshness, the invasion of the central line snaking into him. It overcomes her and she pulls him into her. Throwing an arm over one shoulder and around the other, pinning him against her. “I love you,” she whispers turning her face into his neck.

Her warmth seeps into him, in every place that her skin rests against his. The desperation in her tone makes him smile, the way that she holds him. He’s empathetic to her pain but it feels good to be held, to be loved like something someone is terrified to lose. “You know,” he says. “I kind of figured. You’ve stayed around too long for someone who, supposedly, hates me.”

She laughs. How many times had she gone out of her way to mumble “I hate you” at him? For waking her up to make her go back to bed so that she doesn’t spend her whole night on the floor as miserable as him. To have something to say in the face of the scary things that happen, when he squeezes her hand too tight or when he’s that numb calm she knows is no good.

“I do hate you,” she sniffles.

He laughs. An actual laugh. “Good,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her. “Good.”

Wednesday he makes her French Toast with a black beanie pulled down over his ears, one she’d seen only in the winter to stave off the threat of the ear infections the icy fingers of the wind give him. They talk while they eat and it’s a truly monumental thing to be shared between them-- a meal.

There’s something about sitting there and watching him perfect some glorified egg bread that annoys her. Knowing that likely, tomorrow this will be like a slap to the face. A taunt to see him now and then. Today he will the Aaron that she knows. The Aaron that peers over her shoulder while she’s trying to do things, baiting her into pointless arguments with his bad French and even worse German. To the Aaron who walks soundless and who grins when he turns up silently behind her and makes her yelp with a jump.

She watches the ease in which he takes to his french toast bleed away like the color in his face until lunch brings one of those meal replacements and he can’t do it. Then she finds the french toast she thought he’d eaten in the trash where he’d purposely tried to cover it. Knows that next week they’ll find the meal replacements didn’t work and do something else to his poor body. Cut another hole, insert another tube.

She hears him fall that night.

After hearing him laugh loudly over some stupid thing she’d said.

After playfully fighting with him over stealing one of his sweaters-- he has so many it’s not going to kill him to let her borrow one.

After just sitting with him on the couch for hours listening to music and sitting in the dark.

She hears him fall and, worst of all, she hears how hard he tries to cover it up. The sound is not as distinct as it should be with no crash that rattles dishes or a harsh thud. A stumble, really, a softer thump as he leaned into the wall for support but found none.

“Aaron.”

He’s sitting up against the wall, shoulders sunk in and head hanging. When he looks up she sees the blood pouring down his face, the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “...can’t stop it.” He coughs, wiping at the blood across his lips. “It won’t stop, Emily.”

She runs to the bathroom, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and not thinking twice about manipulating his face in her hands. One hand holding the back of his head while the other dabs the blood up. “We’re supposed to go to the hospital when this happens,” she reminds him. He’ll need platelets or something invasive but more than likely he’ll be submitted to an hour-long wait in the E.R. to be told it was the right thing to come in but altogether unnecessary.

He groans, not in pain but in the general theme of the awfulness he knows will ensue if she makes the decision they will be going to the hospital. To the cold beds and the wheelchairs.

“Water and bed,” she says, instead of what he’d thought would be her asking where his shoes and coat are. She smirks at him, knowing what he’s thinking and seeing the surprise written across his face. “We’ll tell them Tuesday about it,” she assures him. Tuesday when they’re probably going to tell them he needs to come back in another day. When they see the supplements aren’t working and he’ll probably need something invasive and painful. Then they’ll deal with the nose bleeds popping back (and that cough she’s noticed but has let convince himself she hasn’t noticed).

“Bed,” she says again when the words seem like they haven’t processed.

“Bed,” he repeats thickly, her fingers clamped over his nose thickening the nasally quality of his voice.

They shuffle down the hall, Emily’s fingers curled around his hip and his arm over her shoulder. Heads bent in towards one another. He whispers an apology, feet hardly leaving the ground, and leaning on her a little too much. He imagines the beginning. When he’d laid on his bed, thinking about her and thinking about his father. The way the cancer had eaten his father away and he can see in the mirror, he watches closely and knows the same thing is happening to him.

His father had done what he can’t-- ended it.

It had been Aaron who found him. So strange to see such a violent man seemingly… peaceful. His memory is a patchwork of things, his childhood full of too many greys of undetermined moments, but that sight. Seeing his father’s lifeless body in the high-backed office chair he’d spent so many waking hours in has been unforgettable.

He can’t do that. He won’t make Emily see that or leave that sort of memory for Jack. It’s important to him that it be like this.

“You have to sit up.” She props him up on pillows, ignoring his complaints. The blood has slowed and there’s nearly no point in wiping it away. He just watches her, vacantly staring back as she tucks the blankets around his chest. “Sleep,” she instructs, kissing his forehead. “Do you want me to stay?” He knows she will. She’ll sleep right here beside if he asks but… no. He’ll be okay.

It snows.

He watches it from the only window in his room, she’d pulled the curtains back before she fell asleep. He sees her and her giant shadow with the yellowing light from the street pouring in, eating out the deep consuming darkness looming over him. Until today he’d only ever suspected she was dragging his office chair into his room but he’d never caught her, always waking up after she’d moved the chair back and gone back to her own room. Leaving behind only the three deep dents in the carpet where she’d sat for hours. There had been so many nights he’d spent sitting and watching Jack sleep as a baby-- some irrational fear that the baby would stop breathing in the middle of the night and so long as he was watching Jack would keep breathing. He needn’t ask silly questions, he knows she’s using the same irrational approach.

Clenching his teeth he tries to bite down against a cough breaking out, afraid to wake her some such peaceful slumber. He pulls himself upright, curling down as his temples throb, and his body shakes violently beyond his control. A goal in-sight-- the water on his nightstand and getting Emily back to bed-- he powers through it and overcoming the weakness of his body feels so satisfyingly familiar. To days when there was pain but no cancer and he loves the triumphant that washes over him.

The water is warm and stale, left there by Emily yesterday when she’d forced him to take his medicine (even though he thought he’d throw it back up and he had). It kills the ache of his throat, dry and bitter, and he clears his throat softly to take the rest away.

“Emily,” he whispers. Moving his lips cracks the dried blood on his face he grimaces as he smells the thick scent of the blood. “Emily, get up.” He won’t leave her to sleep in this chair all night. He’s made the mistake plenty of times, knows it’s no good. “Come on,” he touches her arm, palm against her bare skin. She jumps his touch is so cold. “Sorry, sorry--”

She really sees him and jumps even harder. Yelping in shock. “Oh! Oh, God!” She wraps her arms around her chest, breathing quickly, startled. “Fuck Aaron,” she shouts. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He rubs his nose, tries to dislodge the blood.

“Is-- Is something wrong?” She pushes her hair back from her face, “are you okay?”

God. He’s hurt her irreparably, hasn’t he?

“Nothing.” He offers his hand, even if the hand trembles visibly enough in the low light. “Nothing, I promise.” She takes his hand, allowing him to guide her up. “You shouldn’t sleep in that chair,” he informs her softly but still with that distinct fussiness to his voice.

She looks back to the chair and up at him, “I guess I’ve finally been caught.”

He smiles. The first time he’d put two and two together he was angry. Overly frustrated, seething over something so… sweet. She’d sat with him through the night, watching him sleep, just trying to be close and he’d been mad. Not now, though, now he can see how tired he is. He can feel her hand still clutching his. “It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

She frowns, brows crinkling as she looks around them in confusion. Sleep riddled brain torn between the rational thought that concludes he’s right, she should go to bed, and the worry she’d felt hours ago about leaving him in this room. She’s not sure what to do now, which thought to travel and act upon.

“Do you--” he looks down at the thrown back covers on his bed. Remembers this wouldn’t be the first time she’s slept in that bed beside him. Likely more than just the memories he can think of now, unprompted. He blushes, embarrassed he even had the thought but she looks down to and nods.

She doesn’t want to leave him alone.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

They start side by side, neither entirely comfortable. She falls back to sleep first. He can feel her breath even back out and within a few minutes she turns over towards him, her hand resting over his wrist. He looks back to his office chair, the giant back of the old thing. She’s so afraid to lose him, they all are. He can feel it in every little thing that they do. How Dave lingers a little more after each visit, hugs him a little longer. The way Derek looks at him, how close he stands. Even in Spencer and Jack who soak up his attention like flowers to the sun. Turning and facing him, finding him wherever he is to enjoy just one more moment. Hanging on to his every word.

He wakes soaked in sweat, shaking as Emily talks to someone rushed, too quickly to sound anything but frantic. Afraid.

He opens his eyes as a sea of red flushes through the room, the shrill of an ambulance breaking up the serene silence the snow has muffled the Earth with.

“Aaron?”

She’d woken to him struggling to breathe. Both had turned over in the night and while she’d turned toward him, he’d turned away from her. Her arm over his hip, her head against his back, they were nearly welded together. If not for the proximity-- his arm pulling hers closer, her leg in-between his, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all. But she’d felt him jerk in his sleep, fighting his body for air.

And he wouldn’t wake up.

“Aaron?” she calls a second time. She should go open the front door, let the EMTs in but she’d seen a sliver of his eye. His cheek is cold against her palm but she cries, tears streaming when he opens his eyes. When he turns his face into her palm. “There you are,” she beams. His eyes slide back shut. “Stay awake,” she asks, her nerves getting the best of her and she shakes him. Pleased when his eyes open back up and find her. “Stay awake, don’t you want to see the snow?”

The stretcher is cold and he mourns the loss of his thick comforter but the drugs flooding into his blood makes him loose, pliable. He doesn’t fight being taken from his bed, even if he longingly looks back for it. Lets them strap his legs down place an oxygen mask over his face. The snow means nothing to him. He hates it, honestly, but as they step outside, Emily tossing his winter coat of him like a blanket, he looks up at it falling down on him.

Her hand slips away and he looks back for her, confused. She stands in the street, face turned to the fat snowflakes falling around her. All the light coming from street lamps high above her head. He’s reminded of a lifetime ago. When she’d gone against his orders and gone to investigate Michael’s death with a ferocity he hadn’t seen coming. When she’d avoided his eye and said she’d understand if he wanted her badge and gun after that little show. She’d forced his hand, made him call the Vatican, and consider his own allegiances. To when they were two very different people than they are now-- younger, naive… alone.

She catches up to them, slipping her hand back into his. Her fingers freezing cold as they curl around his. “Don’t you love it?” she asks. She looks back out, watching until the doors shut behind them and all she has is a tiny window.

He doesn’t but she does.

She looks young, weightless.

In a way, yes, he does love it.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #tw cancer

30 notes · View notes

chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 4865. ⚬ warnings: drinking / smoking. ⚬ genre: mostly angst, fluff, some suggestive/borderline nsfw scenes. a casual life!au? (meaning he isn’t an idol)

✧✎ synopsis: seungcheol knows you’re no longer together, that he should’t be thinking about you as often as he does, and yet, you keep appearing. his heart doesn’t know how many times it can afford to split.

✧✎ a/n: i really wanted to write smth as i work toward finishing that other massive fic. so HERE. bc i miss seungcheol ;-; and idk i just like angst lol.

Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s right for him to be looking at you like this. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but there’s a distinct craving in his gaze that spots him with doubt. You’re not together any more. The chapter where your lives were once romantically intertwined was coldly shut months ago, leaving little room for reconciliation or even the most surface-level of acquaintances. Yet, Seungcheol is struck with a sudden pining as his eyes inspect you from top to bottom across the room, finding it pure luck you were both at the same new year’s party.

There’s a doorway from the living room that leads into the kitchen. Seungcheol is sitting on the sofa with a jade-tinted bottle in his hand, though the amount of alcohol he’s consumed since first arriving has greatly subsided. He’s too distracted by you to even raise the bottle to his lips, nor does he adequately listen when Joshua attempts a conversation. You’re talking to some people he doesn’t recognize, your eyes rather milky and a shiny can in your hand. He stares at the side of your neck and thinks it would be nice if he were giving you a hickey right now.

“Hey.” Joshua bumps Seungcheol’s shoulder and the boy finally turns his head.

He sees Wonwoo and Hansol as well, who give Seungcheol a warm glance. He notes that Hansol is carrying his signature black lunchbox.

Joshua then leans toward Seungcheol’s ear in order to whisper over the music: “We’re going outside to smoke, you coming or not?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Pass,” he says, “I don’t really feel like it.”

He pays attention to the beer in his hand, titling his head back as he gulps down a significant amount of the tangy, bubbly flavour. It doesn’t taste that good, and the bottle’s not even cold at this point, but Seungcheol figures he should just finish it anyways. Joshua sees you in the kitchen, leaning generously against the sink while you attempt to smile at the strangers who converse with you. It was worth a try to get Seungcheol off the couch and away from lamenting at your lost relationship, but he’s unimaginably stubborn when he wants to be.

“Okay,” Joshua replies, patting his shoulder, “don’t get too hung up or anything.”

Seungcheol watches the small crowd weave their way through the congregation to reach the patio door, the last he glimpses of Joshua being his bright blue hat before he slips into the chilly night. Quickly, Seungcheol polishes off the remaining alcohol inside the jade bottle, heavily swallowing the deep burn that melts down his throat while deserting the glass on the arm of the couch. He senses a distant thrumming in his cranium, knows he’ll regret every sip by morning, but for now he cares so very little.

As he leans back in his seat, Seungcheol comes to focus on the body that’s suddenly standing right in front of him. It’s weird, who would do that? However, the breath instantly whisks from the boys’ lungs when he realizes that it’s not just some intoxicated, fucked up stranger who isn’t even cognisant of what room they’re in. It’s you. You’re standing in front of him, to which Seungcheol poorly hides the stupor that colours his face. Before he can stumble out a single word, you’re straddling his lap and settling your hands against his firm shoulders.

Evidently, Seungcheol doesn’t know what the hell is happening. Neither of you are in a sober headspace. Furthermore, he hasn’t touched you (let alone been this close to you) in almost three months. Out of habituality, he grabs the familiar warmth of your waist, the simple contact with your skin igniting an emotion that was once wholly repressed. Staring into your eyes, he sees how foggy they are. He knows his can’t look much different.

“W-What are you doing?” Seungcheol stutters, his cheeks hot and sunset pink.

At first, you don’t speak, only crack a small smile while wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your faces in close proximity until you’re practically breathing the same air.

You blink at him heavily. “Kiss me.” You whisper against his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t believe he’s capable of ever denying you.

The next few hours seem to seamlessly blend together. Seungcheol remembers the intense make-out that ensued on the couch and the little regard he carried for the environment around him. Once he tastes the sharp liquor from your lips, he completely submits to that catastrophic buzz you give him. Feeling your weight push down against his lap, how your fingertips slip through his soft, onyx hair, the way it feels morally wrong to welcome your tongue into his mouth, but so physically right that Seungcheol can only pull your hips closer.

He remembers the warm, open-mouthed kisses he nipped to your sensitive neck, murmuring in a slurred, gritty tone: “let me take you upstairs, baby.”

Joshua might throw the remainder of Hansol’s stale bong water over his head if he discovered what you and Seungcheol did. Somehow, there’s an empty bedroom available at the end of the dim corridor. After falling onto the sheets, you hastily pull the white top over your head and fling it toward a dusky corner, reaching for Seungcheol as he climbs over top your body. While pressing more heated kisses against your throat, already bruising and marked with indents from his teeth, Seungcheol’s hand rubs a sweet friction between your thighs, right over your jeans.

He hears you release a small cry of his name, your nails dragging down his back.

Nothing has ever made his heart shake more.

ii.

Seungcheol is confused as to what time is it. There’s no alarm clock on the bedside table, and his phone is buried within the pocket of his navy green jacket slumped at the end of the bed. He can’t hear much from the level beneath him. Looking toward the blinds, he can only gauge slits of the night sky. All of a sudden, there’s a sickly coughing noise from behind the shut bathroom door, to which he views a small sliver of yellow light underneath. Seungcheol notes the empty space beside him. He hears another cough, followed by a pained and irritated groan.

Damn – you have to be hungover.

Stumbling drearily out from the bed, Seungcheol brushes away the black strands of hair that flop before his eyes. He almost topples over trying to get his boxers back on. The pounding in his head isn’t unbearable, and he figures he’ll be fine after getting some water in his system and dozing off to a few painkillers. Seungcheol taps his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice still thick with sleep, “how bad is it?”

There’s a moment of silence. Seungcheol assumes it must feel bizarre to have your ex consoling you through a hangover, especially considering the history of last night.

“I don’t know…” comes your weak response, “I think I’m dying.”

Seungcheol leans his head against the wood and laughs. “You’re not dying, honey. Can I come in?”

The door swings open, and Seungcheol sees you half-dressed in your white t-shirt and underwear, a watery film in your eyes and a look of pure exhaustion draining your countenance. Then, you’re immediately collapsing back to the cold tiling, leaning your head against the side of the bathtub while the toilet sits across from you. This doesn’t feel like an unfamiliar scene. Seungcheol used to always nurture you through your intoxication, and at least this time you possess enough strength to stand without your legs trembling.

“You want me to get you anything?” Seungcheol asks. “Water? A wet cloth? Some pills?”

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the pills. It’s probably three in the morning, but he figures the convenience store in town might still be open.

You swallow tightly and wrap your arms around your knees, the fluorescent lights gleaming against your balmy, flushed skin. It seems as though you won’t look him in the eyes. Seungcheol understands. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Neither of you should be in this bedroom.

A poignant sigh escapes your chest. “What’s wrong with me?” You ask, the water glimmering bright in your eyes. “Why did we do this?”

Seungcheol stiffens. When he catches a glimpse of his body in the mirror, he can read the hazy extent of your night together. The bruises are tinted like cherry and violets, smudged against his chest, his collarbone and neck. Even now, as he really concentrates, Seungcheol can feel the cool air sting dully against his back, which he can only hypothesize is decorated in long, deep scratches that will possibly burn like hell in the shower. His body hasn’t looked like this in months. There’s a clandestine part of him that wishes the marks will never lose their vibrancy.

He doesn’t know how to soothe your conflict.

Instead, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and stares down at you tenderly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we don’t always make the right decisions.”

You tilt your head back and meet his eyes. Seungcheol’s chest flutters.

For a moment, you look like you want to say something; however, an immediate grimace wrinkles your face and a tight hand is curling around your stomach. You scoot close to the toilet, holding onto its rim while a heavy cough burns acrid against your throat and suddenly, you’re upchucking the potent, venomous liquor from last night. Seungcheol collects your hair in his hand, pulling it back from your face. Once the surges calm for a few minutes, you’re too energy-depleted to do much apart from hang over the toilet, Seungcheol rubbing your back.

It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he would do anything for you.

iii.

Seungcheol opens his wallet and forks out the bills necessary to cover his lunch. He slides out from the booth first, accompanied by Seokmin and Jeonghan who suggested they go out to eat after their basketball game. Seungcheol trails behind them on his phone as they walk down a slim corridor toward the front of the restaurant. He’s texting Joshua about what their fridge looks like, and if it’s necessary to ask Jeonghan about making a stop at the supermarket. The afternoon light is dull as they enter the front house, and Seungcheol sees it’s raining outside.

“Wait—,” Jeonghan stops them before they can leave. “Let me try the gumball machine. Does anyone have ten cents?”

“The gumball machine?” Seokmin laughs. “Are you a child?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan tuts in response. “I want a pink one. Now do you have ten cents or not?”

“Sheesh, give me a second, I’m checking.”

Seungcheol has developed the skill of tuning out their innocuous banter. He looks through the windows and into the downpour, which ripples unforgivingly against the glass and slicks the pavement. For their sake, he’s glad Jeonghan was able to find a parking spot across the street. As the boy gets down on his knee and crams the small coin into the slot, cranking the handle, something manages to catch in Seungcheol’s peripheral vision. His heart skips a beat. You’re looking out the window while nibbling worrisomely upon your bottom lip.

“Are you freaking kidding? Orange? That’s the worst.”

“Why does it matter?” Seokmin quips. “They all taste the same.”

Jeonghan huffs petulantly. “But I wanted pink! Do you have another ten cents?”

Seungcheol hasn’t seen you since your wicked hangover at the New Year’s party. Though it’s a moment of the past, he remembers the situation so vividly, even more so how restless he felt afterward. He was unable to remove you from his mind, and he thought about you so often that he felt the ache with his whole chest. You haven’t noticed him yet. Seungcheol wants to approach you, though he’s not sure how kindly you’ll react or if you’ll brush him off.

“Awe, yes! Pink!”

Jeonghan stands triumphantly from the gumball machine. He holds the pink candy between his fingers and gets ready to pop it straight in his mouth, and yet, the slippery thing flings from his grasp at the last second. The gumball hits the floor, rolling outside into the rain just as someone runs indoors with their umbrella. Seokmin starts cackling, and Jeonghan just looks like he wants to go home. But Seungcheol can’t leave right now. He decides he has to talk to you.

“Meet you guys in the car,” he says, “I have to do something first.”

Seungcheol taps you on the shoulder. You jump slightly, and he feels bad about scaring you, but he’s relieved to see that your expression is cordial rather than aggravated. It blatantly feels strange. You don’t resemble a stranger, yet you’re not extremely clear to him either.

“Seungcheol? Did you eat here?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, I came here after basketball with some friends”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, looking off to the side, “I’m just waiting.”

You then gesture out the window, toward the grey, heavy rain. Seungcheol spots Seokmin and Jeonghan walking across the street, sporting their jackets pulled over their heads, looking somewhat like imbeciles who he has a soft spot for. At one point you were close with both of them, but now Seungcheol doesn’t even know if you still keep in touch. When you broke up, your worlds started floating apart, and that included contact with each other’s friends.

“Right,” Seungcheol snaps his fingers, “you’re still doing the tutoring thing at the library, huh?”

A timid smile pulls on your lips. “I’m tutoring someone today, but it’s so rainy out. I don’t think it’s gonna pass very soon.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn’t even process what comes out from his mouth. There’s a sudden rush of giddiness in his veins, and he feels like his nervous, sophomore-self that once crushed on you before your relationship even started. At the same time, it’s an offer he used to make without thought when you were dating, and it warps into a conflicting, emotional mess.

“Do you want my windbreaker?” He asks, plucking at the black and white fabric. “It’s waterproof and stuff.”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit.

“Uhm… I just—I don’t know, you don’t have to—,”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously.” Seungcheol replies, staring into your wide eyes with a soft expression. “Just give it back whenever we see each other again, okay?”

You lick your lips, swallowing tautly before nodding your head. Seungcheol removes his jacket and helps you slip into the material. It’s a little bit big on you, and the hood droops down far over your face, but, god, seeing you in his clothes engenders Seungcheol’s heart to beat so unbelievably fast. He experiences a concoction of different emotions, different memories. He remembers how it felt seeing you wear his t-shirt after the first time you slept together, how he felt when you’d set up a long distance skype call and you’d be dressed in his old hoodie.

Everything comes rushing back. He doesn’t want to walk away from you, but he knows it’s wrong to linger. You don’t belong to each other anymore.

But at least he’ll get to see you again.

iv.

Seungcheol bounces the basketball a few times against the lacquered floor, feeling the leather texture brush beneath his palm. Then, he takes a deep shot, watching the ball suction perfectly into the hoop just before it echoes against the ground. He was the sole person occupying the gym after a late-night practice. Seokmin was with him about ten minutes ago, but he ended up packing his things and heading off to shower stalls, wishing Seungcheol a goodnight. Even though Seungcheol said he would be leaving shortly, he didn’t know why he was still here.

He picked the ball up and tossed it again, hearing the satisfying swish of the net.

The gym doors suddenly squeak, loud and metallic, to which Seungcheol takes out an earbud assuming that maybe Seokmin forgot something. However, the face that smiles at him doesn’t belong to Seokmin at all, and Seungcheol feels his heart soar. You’re holding the windbreaker that the boy let you borrow during the downpour last week, and he hears a relieved sigh.

“I figured I might catch you here.”

Seungcheol smiles and sets his earbud back in. It astonishes him that you can recall the days he has basketball practice, though Seungcheol supposes it makes great sense considering you used to attend all his warm-ups and games. He grows oddly fond seeing you from the court again.

“Just put in next to that black bag on the bench.”

“I never got to thank you for letting me use it,” you explain while returning the windbreaker to the rest of his belongings, “it was really pouring out, but I was definitely less wet than if I had nothing. I wasn’t too sure if you would still be here. Of course, I knew when I saw Seokmin.”

“It must’ve been weird for him to see you coming back here.” He replies. You would never come to the court unless Seungcheol was there.

“He said hi to me,” you admit, scratching your arm, “he looked kinda nervous though.”

Seungcheol can’t help but note that you seem a little saddened by the interaction. The break-up between you two was all but civilized and pretty. There was shouting, tears, bitter and cold words shanked through the thick air with infinitesimal regard for the other’s feelings. Seungcheol remembers you pushing a picture frame of you two together off the shelf, how the glass cracked, different shards scattering far across the floor. He remembers storming into his bedroom and throwing all your clothes into one heaping pile, demanding that you leave, swearing that he hopes to never see you again. Now, everything feels so pointless and stupid.

The falling out crumbled an entire web of ties between you. Seungcheol understands why Seokmin would be nervous to see you, but he hates to know how it’s upset you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to lift the depressive mood, “Wanna shoot?” He bounces the basketball.

You immediately tense. “Uh – no. I haven’t touched a basketball since we were dati—I mean, well – you know. I haven’t played at all.”

Seungcheol smiles, rolling his eyes. “Just come here.” He beckons. “I’ll remind you.”

“I-I don’t know, my friend is in the car. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“It’ll take two minutes.” He reasons. “I promise.”

The boy is delighted to see you comply, even if you are hesitant and approach him with bleeding apprehensiveness. While he shows you how to hold the ball as well as the correct motion to make with your wrist, there’s a smile blooming from one corner of your mouth to the other. Sometimes the past feels exactly like it should: the past. At this moment, a warmth ignites between you two, a spark that feels passionate and ever-lasting. Once he gives a few examples, the ball is suddenly in your hands, and he watches brightly as you sink a basket.

Seungcheol collects the ball, smirking. “You wanna play?” He then asks, checking the ball straight into your chest.

“No,” you respond, sending it back harder, “you know I just said I have someone waiting.”

“It hasn’t been two minutes yet.”

“There’s probably thirty seconds left. We have no time.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “be a loser.” He doesn’t wait for you, and flicks the ball through the hoop.

It hits the glossy wood, bounces a couple times, and proceeds to roll slowly across the ground. You look at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol looks at you. There’s a small moment of silence.

Until you’re both racing across the floor with arms extended, practically throwing yourselves toward the basketball. It just ghosts under your fingertips, and somehow you manage to secure it against your chest, though you’re unable to even rise from the floor as Seungcheol straddles your waist and attempts to whack the ball out of your grip. The chime of your laughter echoes loudly through the entire gymnasium. You’re too slippery and end up weaseling away, scrambling haphazardly to your feet and using your last breath to sail the ball toward the net.

Seungcheol is too late. He reaches for you, but the ball has already gone through.

As the boy wraps his arms around your waist and hugs your back against his firm, hard chest, you cry out triumphantly, pumping your fists in the air. To anyone who observed from the outside, you wouldn’t exactly paint the image of a broken relationship. You were laughing, celebrating, making harmless mockery pertaining to the other with stupid grins on your faces.

“You’re such a cheater.” Seungcheol says.

Wriggling to face him in the comfort of his grasp, you slide your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and scrunch your nose.

“How did I cheat? That was fair!”

Seungcheol grabs your hips tight, pulling you in close against his body until he can almost count the individual sparkles in your eyes and smell the sweetness of your hair.

“Uh? You said you weren’t gonna play.”

“I wasn’t!” You giggle. “Until you called me a l—,”

The metal doors squeak again. At the speed of light, you and Seungcheol detach from each other, the playful mood disintegrating as the girl who’d been waiting in the car comes looking for you. Seungcheol sees the light drain from your eyes. He watches your shoulders slump, and the deep lump you forcefully swallow upon being interrupted. Seungcheol is utterly disappointed too. His heart doesn’t quite beat the same when you bid him the tiniest, quietest goodbye before running over to your friend, apologizing to her for the unexpected wait. The doors rattle once more, and then the gym is completely empty. It stings worse than anything.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand why he can’t just have you back.

It’s sometime after ten-thirty when Seungcheol finally leaves Hansol and Wonwoo’s house. It’s not a long walk back to his miniscule apartment complex crammed in the middle of town, and he loves to soaks in the calm beauty belonging to the clear, star-speckled sky. He only went over to smoke after a tiresome day at his job, but he ended up staying much longer after Wonwoo revealed his game console. They took turns playing Portal and Grand Theft Auto. It was fun, a perfect way to unwind, and now Seungcheol is ready to wash up and go to bed.

He’s wearing his earphones while walking through town, listening to old songs that remind him of you, a playlist actually, one he started making before you were even together. No matter what happens – Seungcheol is always thinking about you these days. He misses you in a way that aches deeply, like his heart has been split in two by a sharp and jagged stone. In fact, while standing at an intersection, waiting for the light to glow in a walking man symbol, Seungcheol almost mistakes someone sitting at the bus bench across the street for you.

A moment passes, and he squints through the meagre lighting. Wait—that is you.

Your gaze keeps flitting nervously from the lurid phone in your hand to the dimly lit area that surrounds you. Your knee is quickly bouncing, and Seungcheol can sense at a distance how nervous you’re feeling. He doesn’t know why you’re sitting alone in the dark, but he can’t just leave you there. Instead of walking his usual route back to the apartment complex, Seungcheol approaches you, calls out your name softly as to not make you afraid. At first you respond to him with a moonfaced expression, but then you recognize his face and your heart quiets.

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, taking out his earphones.

You gulp thickly and reflect a jittery smile. “Um, kinda. My boss made me stay late for closing. I tried texting my friend to pick me up, but she’s not responding.” A frozen breeze rifles through the air and you shiver. “I-I just, I don’t want to walk home alone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to extend his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll take you.”

A grateful smile warms your face. Standing up from the cold bench, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and interlock fingers. Your address is still fresh in his mind, to which he easily navigates the streets with you beside him. At one point, a loud dog starts barking from a few blocks over and you nearly jump out from your own skin, though Seungcheol just slides his arm around your waist, gently pulling you further into his solace. He feels you instantly relax against him. An indescribable light fills his chest. To be able to make you feel safe, like he used to, it’s aweing.

“This is it, right?” Seungcheol asks upon approaching the house porch. He knows it’s right, but he waits for you to confirm it.

“You’re right.” You tell him in a tiny voice.

His hand grazes the small of your back as you walk up the steps together, stopping before the door and its weathered, white paint. A bitterness stings against Seungcheol’s throat, a truly horrible bitterness. He doesn’t want to say goodbye – he wants to stay. He wants to take you inside and wait on your bed as you get ready for the night. He wants to experience that beautiful fluttering in his stomach when you crawl into his arms and shut off the light, his hand stroking your spine as you fall asleep, your soft, slow breaths fanning against his neck.

Why does it have to hurt like this? Seungcheol hates that he’s so in love with you, but he’d never want it any other way. Even if he has to endure this pain, it’s better than never getting to know you, touch you or love you. He swallows the hot salt and gets ready to bid his goodbye.

“Sleep well, okay? Maybe I’ll see you agai—,”

Suddenly, you’re hugging Seungcheol. Your arms wrap securely around his waist and you bury your face in his neck. He takes a slight step backward, caught off guard by the blitz of affection. He hears you suck in a trembling breath, and then he feels wet, cold droplets slide against his skin. Instantly, he holds you, one hand dearly cradling the back of your head while the other passes up and down your back. You shake in his arms and he doesn’t know why. Seungcheol just hugs you tighter. If he has to, he’ll hold you for the entire night.

“S-Seungcheol,” you release his name in a sob, lifting your head from his neck. His heart beats wildly as he looks directly into your teary eyes. “I’m s-sorry.” You cry to him. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“What?” He cups your face, collecting a few thick tears with his thumb. “For what, honey?”

“E-Everything,” you hiccup, grabbing his waist tighter, “for the st-stupid fights, the p-picture, all those h-horrible things I yelled at you – I hate my-myself because of it.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and brings your face in closer to his, brown eyes glistering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t. I said horrible things too, sweetheart. I yelled at you, I told you to leave, I made you so upset, and I know exactly how you feel.” He rubs his thumb tenderly below your damp eye, and you ease into his touch. “But that was a different time. No matter what, I’m still in love with you. What happened months ago doesn’t change that. I promise.”

You sniffle back the new pearls that nearly stain your face.

“Really? Y-You still love me?”

Seungcheol leans in. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers delicately framing your wet, warm cheek. And then he’s kissing you softly, pouring every ounce of his heart into the contact. Your hand curls around the back of his neck. You respond passionately, keeping him as near as possible, nipping gently at his bottom lip while stealing each other’s breath. Seungcheol peers directly into your gaze. It’s glassy from the tears, but also sincere and welcoming.

“I never stopped.” He says earnestly.

He feels your fingertips thread through the black silk of his hair. You kiss him again, and his grip finds the familiarity of your hips, leading you backward until you press against the door.

“I love you too.” You admit to him between every peck.

In the rising heat, you whisper against the boy’s pretty mouth, “I want you back,” to which the words engender Seungcheol’s heart to positively melt. Seungcheol knows you already have him. It doesn’t take long before you’re unlocking the door with the key beneath an ancient flowerpot. You hop into his arms, and Seungcheol catches you like it’s nothing, sitting you on top of the corridor dresser while his kisses wander further down your neck. Every whimper he hears turns him fonder. You admit again that you love him and he smiles against your skin.

Seungcheol will always need you. He hopes he always has you.

#svt scenarios #svt fanfic #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seungcheol angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt smut #s.coups scenarios #TIME TO CRY!

819 notes · View notes

kurowrites · 4 years

Text

This Cursed Broken Heart - Part II

Second part to this. All parts. I wanted to finish the entire thing, but I don’t have the energy right now, so well. Have part two of three or four, idk.

---

Sunday comes, and Wei Ying’s nervousness has not abated one bit.

He doesn’t have to be worried about Lan Zhan, he knows that. Lan Zhan has always been a favourite with his extended family, because let’s face it, Lan Zhan is the kind of boy you want to introduce to your family. Lan Zhan is the kind of man that your family hopes you’ll marry one day.

Wei Ying is the kind of boy your family always warns you about.

That error in judgement really came back to haunt Lan Zhan later on. Wei Ying still remembers the moment when he looked at Lan Zhan and realised that they were stuck in a hole they couldn’t get out of. And that’s when he had known it was time to leave.

He doesn’t have to be worried about Lan Zhan, but he has to be worried about his own messy feelings.

He picks Lan Zhan up at 10 o’clock sharp, and as always, Lan Zhan is already waiting for him. He’s wearing a form-fitting white three-piece suit and a light blue shirt today, but has foregone a tie to break the formal stiffness of the look. Instead, a patterned silk handkerchief in tucked into his breast pocket. He looks effortlessly elegant, as if he’s just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Wei Ying hates it, because goddamn, it makes him feel inadequate. His own black suit and red shirt combo make him look crummy in comparison.

It also makes him want to worship at the altar of Lan Zhan again.

He slaps his best smile on his face and leads Lan Zhan to the car.

“Just tell Granny Yu you’ve been very busy with work if she asks anything private, ok?” he tells Lan Zhan as they drive off. “And ignore Jiang Cheng. He’s grumpy because I managed to recruit you. He has to face the aunties on his own now. They’re going to try and matchmake this year too, set him up with some unsuitable and unlucky girl, I have no doubt. He hates it, but he still never manages to tell them to stop.”

“You are not dating?” Lan Zhan asks, which isn’t really what Wei Ying intended Lan Zhan to take away from this conversation.

Wei Ying shoots him a quick, considering look, but Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him.

“No,” he says eventually. “That would be a little weird, wouldn’t it? ‘I know we’re dating but I need to take my ex to this party because Granny Yu expects him to come.’ No, that wouldn’t work out well. Might as well ask them to break up with me at once.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t deign an answer to that, and keeps staring out of the car window in silence. Wei Ying falls silent, too, not knowing what to talk about next. Every topic seems to be fraught with dificculties. He knows so much about Lan Zhan, but asking him about his rabbits, his brother or if work is going well seems either shallow or cruel, depending on how you look at it.

They drive on without speaking again, until they finally arrive at the venue.

“There we are,” Wei Ying sighs. “Okay, Lan Zhan, it’s time to put on your boyfriend hat. Have you decided what you want as your reward? Remember that I’m poor, though. I can’t get you expensive things.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but he gets out of the car and goes around to the other side, so he can help Wei Ying out. He often did that, when they dated; old-fashioned chivalry that never failed to make Wei Ying blush. As if it still comes natural to him, Lan Zhan’s hand settles on the small of Wei Ying’s back once he’s out of the car, and he guides him towards the entrance with an ease Wei Ying is jealous of. A pulse of white-hot electricity races up and down Wei Ying’s spine at being touched this way by Lan Zhan.

Not a single person has touched him like this for an entire year, and the fact that it’s Lan Zhan who’s doing it, doing it again, makes something in Wei Ying’s brain go a little fuzzy.

They step into the fancy restaurant that Jiang Fengmian reserved for his birthday party, and they are immediately welcomed by a stampeding horde of noisy relations. Everyone is here, from his little toddler cousins to that one great-aunt that’s like a hundred years old, and it’s both painfully familiar and yet also tinged with a sense of enduring strangeness. None of these people are connected to him by blood, after all. He’s not here because he belongs.

He never even met his actual grandparents.

Lucky for Wei Ying, Lan Zhan is a bastion of calm in the noisy chaos of the Jiang family coming to greet them. They congratulate Jiang Fengmian and enjoy the thirty seconds of attention he can bestow upon them, and then continue greeting all other members of the family. Lan Zhan sticks to his side, so he simply stays right where he is, half-shielded by Lan Zhan, and pastes a friendly smile on his face.

‘Yes, look here,’ he says to himself. ‘Your token gay cousin and his boyfriend are here.’

It’s a ridiculous notion, but it keeps him smiling. And it’s not wrong. Most of the offspring in the Jiang family has married early, and everyone married a heterosexual partner. All of them also got busy producing more offspring basically from the wedding night onwards. The only notable exception is Jiang Cheng, who is a late bloomer if there has ever been one, and Wei Ying, of course. Wei Ying, who always thought he was straight but never felt he should date or marry, until he fell head over heels for Lan Zhan. Wei Ying, who hasn’t looked at another person since.

Literally any other cousin in this family that is over the age of eighteen is married and has produced at least one child already. It’s kind of insane.

“Lan Zhan!” a voice drowns out the general cacophony of noise. “It’s so good to see you!”

And out of the middle of the crowd appears a tiny old woman, leaning heavily on her cane. Granny Yu is as old as stone, and her legs are bad, but her voice still carries with the vigour of a woman who’s used to being obeyed.

Lan Zhan obediently leans down so Granny Yu can inspect him. As usual, she seems to have no complaints as far as Lan Zhan is concerned. When she turns her eyes to Wei Ying, however, they become critical.

“Wei Ying!” she belts. “You are so thin! Look at you! Lan Zhan! Are you feeding him right?”

“Granny Yu,” Wei Ying tries to appease her, “I’m already an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“Nonsense,” Granny Yu grouses. “You’ve always been a terrible eater. Always hoarding your food until it went bad. Lan Zhan, you need to make sure that he’s eating.”

It’s embarrassing, to get reminded of the little habits he picked up while living on the streets. He got rid of that particular habit one year or so after he was adopted by the Jiang family, but Granny Yu never forgot about the time when she discovered his little food hoard, and has been checking his size, weight and general health ever since. She always tells her many grandchildren to eat, but with Wei Ying she’s that more tenacious. And once Wei Ying started dating Lan Zhan, she never failed to remind Lan Zhan to feed him properly. And Lan Zhan, with infinite patience, agreed with her every single time, promising to take care of Wei Ying.

Well, he did use to feed Wei Ying. But Wei Ying’s current state, which he thinks is hardly different from his usual state, is not Lan Zhan’s responsibility. If he’s a little thinner than usual, that’s on himself. Still, Lan Zhan nods seriously as he’s being admonished by Granny Yu.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and it’s easy to lay his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest to get his attention, as if he never stopped doing it. “Don’t listen to her. I can feed myself.”

Lan Zhan looks at him, and the mulish expression on his face is familiar enough that Wei Ying can read it immediately. Lan Zhan has said it to him before: ‘A little more weight won’t hurt you. And a little more food does neither make you greedy nor a glutton.’

“I will eat to my heart’s content today, Granny Yu,” Wei Ying says out loud, because he really wants to shut down this discussion as soon as possible. “So don’t blame Lan Zhan, hmm?”

Granny Yu seems slightly mollified by his promise. She huffs once, and then starts herding people towards where she wants them at the large tables prepared for them.

Wei Ying is relieved once Granny Yu is gone. The first test has been passed, and no one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

That changes the next moment when Jiang Cheng suddenly appears next to Wei Ying.

“I can’t believe you actually brought him with you,” he hisses into Wei Ying’s ear.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying warns him. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You’re just trying to garner points with Granny Yu,” Jiang Cheng shoots back. “Because she always liked you best.”

Before anything more can be said, Wei Ying finds himself pulled away from Jiang Cheng. He just catches Lan Zhan’s angry glare (directed at Jiang Cheng) out of the corner of his eye, then he’s maneuvered to the seats that have been reserved for him and Lan Zhan.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispers to Lan Zhan once they’re seated. “I warned him like three times not to say anything.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but he takes Wei Ying’s hand into his own and lifts it to press a kiss on his knuckles.

The lips that brush his skin are soft and warm. It’s so gentle, and so sweet.

It’s too much.

The gesture is far too intimate; too intimate for what they are no more, too intimate for the occasion, too intimate for Wei Ying’s heart.

He pully his hand out of Lan Zhan’s hold, attempting to make it seem natural and not like he’s trying to escape the affection of his own (fake) boyfriend. Still, he has to take a few deep breaths to collect himself. It’s too much. He feels shaky. He was a fool when he thought he could casually see Lan Zhan for one day and not be haunted by the ghosts of the past that he never managed to exorcise the entire time.

Lan Zhan doesn’t try to engage him again. Instead, he exchanges a few words with one of Wei Ying’s uncles seated across the table, and the bustling around them continues as if everything is perfectly fine, until the food finally arrives.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #broken heart fic

45 notes · View notes

farrah-fowler · 5 years

Text

truth or dare {d.m. x reader}

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Requested: Yes- Hey! Can I request a Draco x hufflepuff reader who doesn’t act like a stereotypical hufflepuff? Like someone who’s more on the brass side and will never say no to a dare?

Warnings: bad writing// some angst?? idk

Word Count: 1.4K

{MASTERLIST}

A/N- First request!! I hope this is what you had in mind! Requests are open! This is the longest imagine I have written and it is definitely my favorite one. Also I’m kind of new to tumblr and I didn’t know that after you respond to an ask it disappears so if you requested this I hope it’s what you wanted!!

When the Sorting Hat shouted Hufflepuff, I was instantly confused. If anything I am more of a Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I am definitely not the standard Hufflepuff. I sneak out and ditch class. Most of my friends were in Slytherin. I just couldn’t seem to fit into the Hufflepuff mold. I was like the black sheep of the house. However, my fellow Hufflepuffs didn’t seem to care that I didn’t fit in. My best friend, Y/BF/N, was also in Hufflepuff. She actually belongs in Hufflepuff. She is kind and loyal. Now that I’m really thinking about it, I guess I can sort of see why the hat put me into Hufflepuff. I am kind and loyal… I think. I guess I can fit the mold of being a Hufflepuff because of those two traits. Otherwise, I belong in Ravenclaw or Slytherin.

That’s how I found myself in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by students from every house, at a party before Christmas break. They were all dancing, chatting, or making out. I was just leaning against the wall my eyes scanning the crowd for a certain someone.I was wearing a dark blue tank top with black high waisted ripped jeans.

A tall Ravenclaw boy was standing on a table next to me trying to get everyone’s attention. It wasn’t working because the music and the sound of talking was too loud.

“Excuse me, guys, we are starting a game of tru- Guys hello!” He said, getting frustrated that no one was listening. I got up on the table next time. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hold on.” I said, clearing my throat. “EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP.” Everyone went quiet and the music was stopped. I hopped off the table. “You’re welcome.”

Thanks Y/N. Okay everyone, a game of truth or dare is taking place over on the other side of the room if anyone wants to play.” The boy jumped off the table and headed towards the big group of people in the opposite corner of the room.

Y/BF/N was running over to me. Well not running cause… exercise is not a thing we do. She was speed walking. Yes that’s the right word. Y/BF/N was wearing a pastel yellow sweater crop top with a light blue high waisted skirt.

“Y/N do you want to play?” She asked, hope shimmering in her eyes as she grabbed my arm. “All of our friends are going to play.”

“Relax, I’m gonna play.” I laughed. She pulled me through the crowd and to the corner where the game was. I sat down on the ground next to Y/BF/N and a Ravenclaw girl who was in the year below me. Across from me was Pansy, Blaise, and, you’ve got to be kidding me, Draco. Why, of all the people at this party did I have to sit across from him?

I didn’t have anything against him. Sure he’s made fun of me for being a Hufflepuff once or twice. But he learned his lesson after I called him out in front of all of his friends and threatened to hex him into tomorrow if he made fun of me or my friends again. He took the threat seriously since I am the top of the class for charms. I mean sure he was a bad person sometimes but no I didn’t have anything against him. He was actually very sweet whenever we’ve had to be partners on an assignment. We’ve even hung out outside of class before. Not very often but a few times.

Half of my house would kill me if they knew that I hung out with him outside of class. The whole house would kill me if they found out I like him.

“Okay! Let’s get this game started!” announced the Ravenclaw boy from before. “Who wants to start?”

“ I will,” cheered Y/BF/N. She looked around the room before her eyes landed on Draco. “Draco, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Draco drawled, sounding bored, looking at the floor.

“Do you like anyone?” she asked him.

Draco lifted his head, his cheeks dusted pink. Was Draco Malfoy actually blushing?

“Yes I do.” He said as he made eye contact with me.

The people around us were all saying “ooooo” like a bunch of five year olds. We held eye contact for at least a minute before I tore my eyes away and looked at the floor.

Draco then asked Blaise truth or dare. He said dare and had to write a letter to McGonagall pretending to be Snape saying that he has loved her for a long time. Everyone was out of breath from laughing so hard.

After that, Blaise dared Dean Thomas to go in the lake.

The game went on and on. Hermione did truth and was asked which teacher was the hottest. She turned bright red and mumbled a name before turning to me.

“Y/N, truth or dare,” she said as she quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Dare,” I declare.

“Hmmm… I dare you to kiss the person sitting across from you. And if you don’t, you have to do my homework for a week.” She smirked. I glared at her. Of course she would do this.

Hermione was my closest friend outside of Hufflepuff. She was the only person, besides Y/BF/N, who knows I like Draco.

My face burned beet red as I looked across from me at Draco. He was already looking at me. When our eyes met, he smiled softly at me and winked. I smiled back and turned to Hermione.

“Where? Here?” I hesitated. I did not want my first kiss with Draco to be in front of more than half the school.

“No. Why don’t you go to the closet or a dorm. Let’s make it like 7 minutes in heaven.” She replied as her eyes darted between Draco and I, the smirk still settled on her features. “I’m going to alter the dare a bit. You and the person across from you, which is Draco, have to go into one of the dorms and kiss or something,” at that she winked, “for 7 minutes. At 7 minutes, someone will come get you. Sound good?”

Draco and I nodded. He stood up and walked over to me.

“Shall we?” He whispered, putting his hand out. I took his hand and he pulled me up. He started walking but didn’t let go of my hand. I finally got my feet to move.

Draco squeezed my hand and brushed his thumb across my knuckles as we headed to an empty dorm.

“How’s your day going, love?” he asked. My stomach jumped at the use of the nickname. He had never called me ‘love’ before, yet it sounded so right.

“It’s uh it’s going okay. How about you?” I said, looking up at him.

“It’s gotten better. Here we are,” he announced, opening a door and letting me in.

We stood there for a second. I bit lip and looked down at my feet.

“Are you alright? You’re really quiet.” He questioned.

“Huh? Oh yeah I’m alright. I’m just kind of nervous,” I said, my voice fading on the last word.

“The Y/N is nervous? How come?” Draco inquired.

“Because I’ve liked you since second year. And I know this doesn’t mean anything to you and I don’t mean anything to you. so yeah I am nervous.” I huffed.

“You really think that? You really think this won’t mean anything to me? That you don’t mean anything to me?” hurt crossed his features as he stepped closer to me. I nodded as I looked at him. “Y/N, you couldn’t be more wrong. I can’t get you off my mind.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Of course. I wouldn’t joke about this.” Draco said, putting his hand on my cheek, as he leaned in. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” I breathed.

Draco leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I kissed back instantly. My eyes fluttered close as I wrapped my arms around his neck and he put his arms around my waist.

After a minute or so, we pulled away. He rested his forehead against mine.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” He asked, nervously.

“Well duh,” I laughed. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my nose. He pulled me as close as possible as I laid my head on his chest. The music downstairs was a gentle hum and we started to sway to the music.

“Hey lovebirds! The time is up!” Blaise shouted.

Draco pulled away and grabbed my hand. He opened the door and led me back to the game. When we got back to the circle, he sat next to me and put his arm around me. I leaned into him and kind of ignored the rest of the game, loving the feeling of being close to him.

#Draco Malfoy #draco #draco malfoy fluff #draco x reader #draco imagine #Harry Potter #imagines #bxbyspxncer's writing #wilburxpancakes' masterlist

112 notes · View notes

baconwaffle2016 · 6 years

Text

WIP Week, Day 2: My Favorite WIP, Baby Royals!(in Hogwarts) AU

First, this is dedicated to @geldris, whom I’ve horribly neglected when it comes to the Hogwarts/BabyRoyals!AU.

Several months ago, Brooke and I basically talked about doing a collab featuring the Baby Royals (Elizabeth, Zeldris, and Arthur) in Hogwarts, and the adventures they have there--including learning magic, engaging in duels, and having awkward af crushes. Idk how Brooke still feels about it, but I go back to it every now and again to work on stuff, because I really really just love the idea of it. (I really love Harry Potter, and Hogwarts AUs, so.)

This is one of the one shots/stories I started working on, focusing on Elizabeth (who’s a Hufflepuff with a penchant for mischief and nerve) in her Fifth Year. It isn’t really polished, and I don’t know what to do with it just yet--but I hope you like it!

(Also @thisisaverycreativeurl, hints of a Rival Seekers AU. You’ll know when you see it *wink wonk*)

When one really thought about it, this was all Alioni’s fault; if he’d just kept his blasted mouth shut, none of this would have happened.

Alioni had never taken his status as a Hufflepuff so gracefully. Even before Elizabeth entered Hogwarts as a student, and was called into Hufflepuff’s fold, he would spend most of his days ranting on The Sorting Hat’s placement. Thought it made him just another average, no-good student, he did. No one could convince him otherwise, not even Elizabeth, who tried to be kind to him even as he’d sneered down at her like she was dirt under his shoe.

It wasn’t long before Alioni grew older, became a Seventh Year; and he only grew angrier. And like some people who festered in anger, he took his problems out on other students. One of these people happened to be Ban Benwick.

A lot of rumors already surrounded Ban, with his razor sharp grin, his gangly (but also quite toned) form, those eyes, and of course, the angry scar on his neck. He had a look to him that wasn't quite Gryffindor, yet his attitude said otherwise. While he was quite picky on what and who he fought for, and he’d be quite vicious during said fights, he was never afraid to call people out on their shite--especially in defense of those he liked.

How he and Meliodas Cornwall became friends is sort of a Hogwarts mystery. Most Gryffindors didn’t even try to befriend Slytherins, and vice versa. And yet, despite any rivalry they’d had years prior, friends they became.

To this day, Elizabeth still has no idea what Alioni said to make Ban snap. She remembers her and Zeldris meeting up with Arthur after their Potions class, and then the three of them walking out into the courtyard to hear yelling. While there, she knows she caught Alioni jeering about an “animal” and in a mix of worry and anger, she ran forward to see what was happening.

When she pushed through the crowd, Elizabeth saw that Elaine had her arms wrapped around Ban’s waist from the front while Meliodas was behind him and holding his arms, both struggling to hold Ban back from destroying Alioni. She remembers how Ban’s face was contorted with a rage and a pain that only a few people in Hogwarts understood, Elizabeth included.

(She’s one of the Headmaster’s daughters; any secret a student has--including that of tooth and claw, and blood--she already knows before they enter.)

Alioni laughed, his sneer ugly. “Yeah, hide behind your little mudblood slag. Does she even know? Does she know that she’s been snogging, and Merlin knows what else, with a damned w--”

It happened so fast, the only sound being that of skin hitting skin, and maybe the cracking of bone. Alioni had been talking talking, spitting out shite that drew some gasps, glares, and some smirks, and Elizabeth could only feel a haze of anger. Before she could step forward and do something, her fists already curled and ready to break his bloody face, no matter how Arthur tried to cajole her, someone else’s fist landed there first. When Elizabeth blinked in her shock, she saw Meliodas standing over Alioni, his fist clenched and spotted with blood that started bleeding from Alioni’s broken nose.

Now, Meliodas Cornwall was many things. An absolute prick and “pain in my arse,” Zeldris would always answer whenever someone asked. A “robot with human skin”, Arthur had once argued in their third year. An arrogant jerk who’s always trying to ruin someone’s fun, Elizabeth used to think whenever he’d snitch on her and her friends after they pulled a prank, or broke one of Hogwarts’ rules, as if he was the perfect little student.

(And many people did think this of him, her mother included. Her mother always seemed to prefer taking in others’ accomplishments before Elizabeth’s.)

Meliodas was serious, studious, a stickler for rules, and seemed to prefer being alone--unless he had friends around, but those were usually few and far between--and he did not get into fights. Not the sorts with fists, anyway.

“Get up.”

Elizabeth blinked, saw Alioni swallowing through his pained tears as he stammered, “W-w-what?”

Meliodas was already throwing his robe to the side and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Elizabeth remembers her eyes going wide because, well--Whoa, Hello, where did those arms come from?--and her heart thumped as he loosened the green and silver tie from his neck, his eyes blazing.

“Get. Up,” he said again, almost in a growl.

“B-but y-your wand,” stammered Alioni, sounding like he wanted to bargain.

Meliodas sneered and cracked his knuckles. “I won't need it to do this.”

Long story short, Alioni got his arse kicked--brutally, surprisingly, but also hilariously--and Meliodas walked away to the Headmaster’s office with only a couple bruises on his knuckles and some blood running from the side of his mouth. He'd cost Slytherin fifteen house points, but he didn’t care. His head was high, and his walk was confident, and he drew stares for weeks afterward.

Elizabeth tried not to stare, like everyone else did. She did, truly. She tried not to even acknowledge his presence as he walked through the hall, tried not to be in tune to his voice, or his laugh (When did he learn to laugh…?). She especially tried not to think of how broad his back had become or how tall he’d gotten (still an inch shorter than her but that didn’t matter), or how green his eyes were, and how he smiled and how it just did things to her squishy Hufflepuff heart--

Oh, no, Elizabeth thought when she woke up one day. She whimpered and pressed her pillow to her bright red face, her heart still doing that stupid, rather fluttery thump-thump in her chest. Oh, no, no, no.

Now, Elizabeth has had crushes before. She was at a point in her life where boys, and sometimes girls, were awfully pleasing to look at. She’d sometimes fancy a different person every week, someone she’d stare at and fantasize about during both waking and sleeping moments. She even toyed with the idea of snogging Arthur once, because he was cute and a friend, and that was just what you did if you had friends who were cute. That was normal. That was fine.

Whatever this was towards Meliodas was not a crush. This was an existential crisis.

Why? Well, it was just...stupid. Boys in general were stupid, especially when they got into stupid and immature fights. And Elizabeth wasn’t that type of girl, the sort who fanned her neck during a duel of wands or an exchange of fists, as if she was some doe for bucks (or other does) to impress and win over. (She wasn’t Margaret, bloody hell.) So if it was just the fight, it wouldn't have been a big deal, Elizabeth would tell herself. Meliodas would just be another stupid boy to fancy for a week, then move on from.

But Meliodas wasn’t just a stupid boy; he was a stupid boy Elizabeth knew. From a distance mostly, initially, an annoyance that came to her when she never asked for such a presence. So it was hard to ignore Meliodas when he approached her during such moments.

“Oi, Liones.”

Elizabeth looked up from her untouched breakfast and saw Meliodas standing across the table. His hands were in his robes and his expression was stony, but there was something in his eyes. A look he’d never given to her before.

(Or, perhaps, she’d never looked before?)

“Your first Quidditch game is today, I hear,” he said.

Elizabeth nodded, her mouth pressed closed.

“You scared?”

“No,” she said automatically, irritated that he assumed so, even if his assumption was correct. Elizabeth sat up more, tried to summon the confidence that had thrilled through her when she’d been chosen to become Hufflepuff’s Seeker, and asked, “Why should I be?”

“Merlin is said to be the best and fastest Seeker Ravenclaw’s had in a century,” said Meliodas, his brow quirked. “It would be natural to be nervous, especially if it's your first game.”

Elizabeth found her gaze falling to a table across the Great Hall, where the Ravenclaws sit. She saw Merlin sitting with Gowther, who was a Chaser, and she watched them converse with each other. She saw Merlin pause and turn to meet her gaze. Merlin stared at Elizabeth for a moment, and then she smirked before turning back to Gowther. Elizabeth’s stomach twisted.

Still, she turned back to meet Meliodas’ gaze and said, “I'm not afraid.”

Meliodas stared at her, his expression seemingly patronizing. Then he smirked, but not with cruelty, not with that warmth in his gaze.

“You should have fought the Hat for Gryffindor,” he nearly muttered.

Elizabeth blinked, unsure if she heard correctly. Before she could ask what he meant, Meliodas sat across from her and folded his arms onto the table.

He leaned towards her and spoke quietly, almost a whisper, “Listen close, Liones. Merlin is fast and experienced, but she has a blind spot that you can easily take advantage of…”

Despite her reservations, Elizabeth listened to his advice, the wisdom of another Seeker just as skilled and experienced as Merlin, and her heart swelled again with that thrill.

“Do...do you really think I can win?” she asked eventually.

Meliodas smiled back and told her, “With your nerve, Liones, I have no doubt.”

The second time Elizabeth donned her Quidditch garb and marched onto the field with her team, broom in hand and her shoulders squared, it was Slytherin’s team they stopped short of. She met Meliodas’ eyes across the field, took in how he looked in his garb, and felt her heart flutter.

“Scared, Liones?” asked Meliodas, his smirk proud and his green eyes gleaming.

Elizabeth smirked back. “You wish.”

#wip week #wipweek #Favorite WIP #nanatsu no taizai #hogwarts au #baby royals au #Hufflepuff!Elizabeth #Slytherin!Meliodas #Gryffindor!Ban

38 notes · View notes